


These Are The Days

by Zombubble



Series: Dragonflies [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Prince Katsuki Yuuri, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-06 09:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14639313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombubble/pseuds/Zombubble
Summary: When the Crown Prince of Akitsushima and Russia's future Living Legend meet, neither of them quite expect the course set before them. Growing quickly from acquaintances to friends, they find their relationship developing in ways they'd never dreamed, never dared to hope for.Is that hope worth keeping alive?(An AU ofThe Nature of Thingsbased on the premise that Yuuri never ran. Can be read independently of the main series.)





	1. Only If For A Night

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the mini fic for [YOI Royalty Week!!!](https://yoiroyaltyweek.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This will be updated daily over the week of May 13-May 19, in keeping with each day's theme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: Balls and Masquerades**
> 
> **Timeline:**  
>  Chapter one is the only one in which two different sets of ages apply, and so they've been marked in-text.

**~~Yuuri: 12, Viktor: 16~~**

 

At twelve years old, Yuuri’s been to enough parties that he’s surprised it took so long for his father to approve him attending the one Madame Lilia’s good friend throws every year. He doesn’t get to attend many balls outside of Akitsushima, the small island nation his family rules off the eastern coast of Japan, but he’s been allowed to more often as he’s gotten older. For the very first time, though, he’s  _here,_ and if he’s being honest it’s not as special as he thought it would be. There are very few people Yuuri’s age and a great many adults who all discuss very adult things that Yuuri doesn’t quite understand (and doesn’t have much interest in.) Regardless, he manages to look friendly as they make their way around the room, greeting the people they know.

“Your Majesty,” Yuuri hears a familiar voice say. He turns around, smiling when he sees Madame Lilia standing just a few feet away. His father turns as well, nodding as Madame Lilia gives a slight curtsy. She takes his father’s hand as he holds it out.

“A pleasure to see you again, Madame Baranovskaya,” Toshiya replies, giving a shake.

Madame Lilia looks down. “Your Royal Highness,” she says with the hint of a smile and a small bow.

“Madame Lilia,” Yuuri replies, holding his hand out first like he’s supposed to for anyone who isn't a King or Queen. He smiles, it's nice to see a friendly face. Shaking it, she returns his smile, before turning around. She says something in Russian, and an older boy in a nice suit with the longest, most beautiful starlight hair Yuuri’s ever seen peeks around her, smiling as he comes to stand in front of them. There’s a moment where she whispers in his ear and he nods, brushing a piece of hair out of his face.

“Vitya, this is His Royal Majesty, King Toshiya of Akitsushima, and his son, Crown Prince Yuuri.” Viktor bows a little too deeply and his hair cascades over his shoulder, coming to rest there as he straightens up, takes Toshiya’s offered hand and shakes. Yuuri offers his own, and when Viktor takes it it’s gentle. His fingers are very soft, and a little cold. Gripping like he was taught, Yuuri gives a firm shake and a nod, pleased when Viktor’s fingers tighten around his.

When he looks up, his father nods, smiling with approval. Proud, Yuuri puffs his chest up just a little bit, happy that he’s proving himself mature enough to be by his father’s side.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness,” Madame Lilia says, pulling Yuuri’s attention back to her, “This is Viktor Nikiforov. He’s currently training with my husband, Yakov, and recently won the Junior World Championships with the highest score in the history of the competition. He has a very promising career ahead of him.”

“World Championships of what?” Yuuri asks, a little too bluntly. The pretty boy, Viktor, looks at him.

“Figure skating!” He says in a strong Russian accent. He has the happiest heart-shaped smile and the bluest sparkling eyes Yuuri’s ever seen and Yuuri smiles shyly in return.

He makes a mental note to ask about watching some figure skating programs when they get home.

 

  
  
~*~

**~~Yuuri: 14, Viktor: 18~~**

 

At eighteen years old, Viktor has been to enough parties that he wonders why he still feels awkward sometimes, why he feels like no matter how deeply he buries himself under his ever-improving public persona, they can see straight through him.

Viktor smiles at Yakov as he disappears through the door. The night air is cool on his face, refreshing, and he comes to stand on the balcony, leaning against the railing. There are far fewer people out here, early fall in St Petersburg being reasonably cold, but he still feels their eyes on him. His recent gold at World’s has focused everyone’s attention in his direction, and the pressure is starting to settle itself on his shoulders as whispers spread . Shivering, only partially from the cold, he turns towards the nearest staircase.

He wanders the ornate gardens, shoving his hands into his suit pockets for what little warmth is available. Hair in a tightly-wound bun, the back of Viktor’s neck is cold in the breeze. Coming to stand near a fountain, sparkling in the moonlight, his eye is drawn by movement on a bench nearby. There’s a teen sitting there, he sees, in a tuxedo with a black cummerbund. It’s hard to pick out detail but it looks like he rubs his face, takes a deep breath as he stares at his shoes. One hand is clasped gently around a large silver ring. The boy looks to the side as Viktor draws close. His face is familiar but at the same time it’s hard to place him.

“May I sit?” he asks in English, and the teen shifts over without looking at him, gesturing at the bench. Viktor sits down (the stone is so cold, how long has this kid been out here?) and with a sigh, looks out across the gardens. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” is the quiet response. It’s almost convincing, if not for the slight tremor punctuating the end.

“There are a lot of people here, don’t you think?” Perhaps he dislikes crowds.

“It’s about what I expected,” the boy says. “These parties are always the same.”

So he’s used to this. He must be from an upper-class family. Viktor shifts uncomfortably. His family’s never been poor, but they’ve never been anything you wouldn’t classify as middle class, and despite doing this for a few years, Viktor still finds it difficult to navigate the fancier events. He’d much rather be at the rink, skating, or home, curled up with Makkachin reading a book. He wishes he could have brought Makkachin, she loves meeting new people and gives him an excuse to talk about something other than his career. The boy doesn’t insist on any sort of formality though, so Viktor does his best to pretend it’s any other conversation.

“You don’t like parties?”

“Not really,” he says. “You?”

“I like them well enough,” Viktor responds, “but they get boring after a while. All anyone talks about is my achievements and what they expect in the future.”

There’s a wry laugh from Viktor’s left. “Expectations suck,” he says. “That’s all anyone ever talks about with me, too. It’s like… they don’t want you to forget you’re supposed to do great things but it just makes it worse. I  _know_ what people expect of me, they don’t have to say it over and over and over again.”

“Yeah, exactly. I know how you feel. My name is Viktor!” Holding his hand out, Viktor does his best to flash a smile.

“For now… for now you can call me Yuuri,” the boy says, taking it and giving a firm shake.

The name rings another bell in Viktor’s mind, but the vague impressions he’s getting aren’t solid enough to go on. He looks back out at the gardens. “I wish I could have brought my dog,” he says.

“You have a dog?!” The teenager— Yuuri— sits up with a smile.

“I do! Her name is Makkachin and she’s two years old and she’s adorable!!!”

“Do you have any pictures?”

Viktor nods, pulling out his phone. Flipping it open, he navigates to photo storage, pulling up a picture of Makka taken just last week. He holds the phone out. Yuuri takes it happily, looking at the small screen. “She’s adorable!! A poodle?”

“Yep! Standard,” Viktor replies.

With a sigh, Yuuri hands the phone back. “I’ve always wanted a dog,” he says, “but it’s never been allowed.” The shakiness of his voice says he’s been out here for a while, and when Viktor looks closely, he can see him shivering.

“I could send you some pictures, if you wanted,” Viktor offers, scrolling through his photos. Most of them are blurry, but he finds another of Makka curled up on the foot of his bed and he smiles.

“I need to ask my dad if I can give you my email but that would be nice,” Yuuri responds. When Viktor holds the phone out again, he takes it. “She’s so pretty,” he says.

“I love her. She’s… not well-behaved,” Viktor laughs, taking the phone back and closing it smoothly, “but she’s sweet. Very loving.”

“Give her scratches for me?” This kid is absolutely adorable.

“I will!” Yuuri’s shivering harder now, and Viktor glances back at the mansion. “We should go inside,” he says, “since it’s so cold out here.”

With a noise of displeasure, Yuuri glances back as well. “I guess,” he replies. “My dad wanted to leave soon, anyway, and we’re supposed to go see a museum tomorrow or something.”

Standing, they take a moment to brush any potential dirt off their pants, looking at the fountain in front of them before sharing a smile. There’s a gasp, and Viktor looks over to see Yuuri staring at him. “You’re Viktor  _Nikiforov,”_ he says. “I didn’t recognize you in the shadow, my apologies.”

“Have we met before?” Guilt surfaces in the back of Viktor’s mind. If they haven’t met, then Yuuri’s just a fan and not someone he’s completely _forgotten_ about like an ass. Yakov’s right, he needs to figure out a method for remembering names and faces.

“It was a few years ago,” Yuuri replies, “and very brief. You don’t… recognize  _me?”_

“Should I?” It’s out of Viktor’s mouth before he can think about what he’s about to say, and his eyes widen as Yuuri laughs, clear as a bell.

“Most people at these things do,” Yuuri says, still chuckling as they make their way back to the party.

“Well, who are you, then?”

Flashing him a grin, Yuuri’s eyes glint. “I’m not telling.” The kid’s cheeky, Viktor will give him that.

“Are you a figure skater?” Yuuri’s clearly not Russian, and Viktor doesn’t know why a foreign figure skater would be invited, but it’s the first question that came to mind.

“Nope,” Yuuri says, “but I did a little when I was a kid.”

“A celebrity?” Child actors aren’t completely unheard of at these parties, but Yuuri’d also mentioned his father was here, which begs the question; was it Yuuri that was invited, or his dad?

“No.” Yuuri grins, skipping forward a few steps before turning to walk backward. “Guess again!” He’s taking particular delight in his apparently newfound anonymity, and Viktor smiles.

“The  _child_ of a celebrity?”

“Not even cl—” Yuuri’s heel catches a paving stone and he falls backwards, landing flat on his back and staring at the stars, stunned. The metal ring he was holding is clutched to his chest, and as he sits up he takes a deep breath.

Viktor just leans over him. “You alright there?”

“Y-yeah,” Yuuri responds, holding his hand out expectantly. Viktor takes it, pulling him to his feet. “Don’t tell anyone?”

“That the random kid I met at the party fell on his ass in the middle of the gardens? No one’ll believe me, your secret’s safe.” Yuuri smiles at him.

“Thanks.”

“Are you an athlete at all?”

“I do some dance, but not professionally. That’s not why I’m here.”

They turn back towards the mansion. “So are you a child prodigy of some sort?”

“No,” Yuuri replies, spinning the metal ring in his hands. It’s too dark to get a good look, only the glimmer of moonlight letting Viktor know it’s metal at all.

“Friend of the family?” Viktor gestures at the mansion in front of them.

“My family knows them, yes,” Yuuri replies. The person throwing this affair is one of the higher-ups of St. Petersburg’s government, the kind of man who likes to gather his best and brightest in one place and show them off to the people he deems his peers. Viktor likes this party less now than he had the year before, and he hadn’t liked it at all, then.

“Is your dad some sort of government official?”

There’s a moment of hesitation. “Of a sort,” Yuuri replies, “yeah.” Viktor wracks his brain. There’re very few politicians at the party, mostly a few Russian officials, some delegates from a few friendly countries, and… the King of Akitsushima. Who, Viktor remembers now, has a son who’d be about fifteen at this point.  _“For now, you can call me Yuuri,”_ Yuuri had said, and it makes more sense if he usually goes by a title. Which, he does, now that Viktor remembers meeting him at his first big party, held by a good friend and former troupe mate of Lilia’s. Viktor grins.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Akitsushima’s government that their Crown Prince fell on his ass, either.”

Yuuri chokes, looking at Viktor with wide eyes. Viktor just smiles. “Your secret is safe, Yuuri,” he says quietly, glancing towards the balcony. They’re far enough away he supposes use of Yuuri’s name is still alright. “It was fun talking with you, and I’ll send those pictures if you still want them.”

“I do,” Yuuri says quietly as they approach the stairs. “I’ll ask my dad about giving you my email.” He stops before they head up, letting out a heavy sigh. “Thanks,” he whispers. He looks at the ring in his hands, and as he moves it towards his head, Viktor sees it for what it is; a silver circlet, intricate metalwork twisting around and through itself and it glimmers against the black of Yuuri’s hair once it’s in place.

A woman standing near the doors catches sight of Yuuri and hurriedly makes her way over. “Your Highness,” she says, “your father’s starting to worry. I was just coming out to look for you.”

“I’m fine, Minako-sensei,” he says.

“Where  _were_ you?” she asks, brushing his back off with her hand.

“I took a walk,” he replies, hanging his head and twisting his fingers in and around each other.

“Alone?” she asks sternly. “Your Highness, I thought—”

“I was with him, ma’am,” Viktor interjects. “He was at the bottom of the stairs, said he wasn’t supposed to go alone. I offered to… to go with him,” he says. Yuuri looks at him with wide eyes.

“Is this true?” Brushing Yuuri’s hair out of his face, Minako levels him with a look that rivals Lilia’s.

Nodding quickly, Yuuri flashes a small smile in Viktor’s direction. “Mr. Nikiforov was very nice about it, even when I tripped.”

“Thank you, then, for accompanying His Royal Highness,” she says, “I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience.”

“Not at all!” Viktor replies, grinning.

“Minako Okukawa,” she says, holding out her hand. “Tutor to His Royal Highness.”

“Viktor Nikiforov, figure skater.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, with a glance at the young prince. He must be a fan, having recognized Viktor by the dim light of the moon.

She smiles at Viktor, and as she guides Yuuri back into the building Viktor sees him turn around, flashing a smile of his own before waving and mouthing “thank you.”

Viktor only has time to nod in response and he doesn’t see Yuuri again, but just before he leaves for the night, a man in a suit approaches. Notepad in hand, he gives a shallow bow. “Mr. Nikiforov,” he says, “I am here to ask for your email on behalf of the Crown Prince of Akitsushima.”

Holding his hand out, Viktor takes the pad of paper when it’s offered, writing his name on top and his email underneath. He draws a heart-mouthed smiley face with long, flowing hair, and hands the notepad back to the man.

 

Two weeks later, an email pops into his inbox. “About those dog pictures…” the subject line reads, and Viktor grins to himself as he finishes putting his hair in a messy bun and clicks over to his Makkachin folder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day one of Yuri on Ice Royalty Week!! Prompt was Balls and Masquerades. This has been really refreshing to write, tbh, and I'm excited for the rest of the week.


	2. What They Don't See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Star-Crossed
> 
>  
> 
> **Timeline:**  
>  **~~Yuuri: 15 years old, Viktor: 19~~**

“Vitya.”

With one word, Lilia summons Viktor instantly to the side of the rink.

“Yeah?” He comes smoothly to a stop in front of her, taking the water bottle she holds out.

“We are expecting company,” she replies.

“Does this mean I can’t leave?” He’d been looking forward to heading out, soon. Makkachin had come with him to the rink, taking up residence in Yakov’s office, and Viktor looks forward to their walks home, often picking up dinner on the way. Makkachin’s been lonely since he’d gotten his apartment, used to having Lilia home at least a few days of the week while Viktor’s training, so he’s made a special effort to make sure she gets to spend time with him.

“You are free to go,” Lilia says with an unusual sparkle in her eye, “but you may not want to.”

There’s no time to ask what she means before the main door to the rink opens. A familiar woman walks in, followed by a few men in suits, one of which is carrying a black gear bag.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman says. “You’re sure it won’t be an issue?”

“Not at all, Minako,” Lilia replies. Viktor’s eyes widen. If Minako’s here, that means maybe…

“Vitya!!” Yuuri’s leaning against the boards, smiling widely.

Taking off quickly, Viktor skates over, smiling when he stops in front of him. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!”

“Last minute change of plans,” Yuuri laughs. “Minako-sensei had wanted to see Madame Lilia but our plane was scheduled to leave like an hour and a half ago? Well, the pilot’s not feeling well and the backup won’t be out here until tonight, so Minako-sensei suggested we come visit!”

“Why didn’t your dad take you home with him?”

“It’s illegal.”

Viktor blinks. “What?”

Sheepish, Yuuri rocks back on his heels, holding onto the boards for support. “It’s illegal. My dad’s the King, and I’m first in line of succession, so it’s illegal for us to travel together. In case one of the planes goes down. I can’t travel with my uncle, either, since he comes after me. But my dad and my uncle can travel together!” Yuuri smiles but Viktor fails to see how that’s any better.

“How old were you when you stopped travelling with him?”

“I’ve never travelled with him in my life.” Yuuri glances back at his bodyguards. “Umm, I got skates,” he says. “Minako-sensei took me to buy ice skates on the way here, since Madame Lilia said I could maybe…”

“Do you want me to teach you?”

“I know the basics,” he says. “I used to skate when I was a kid, remember? But I’m really out of practice. I’d like to skate, though.”

The exit is a few feet away, and Viktor makes his way through to Yuuri, who’s now seated on a nearby bench. It hadn’t registered before, but Yuuri’s wearing a black tracksuit instead of his regular three-piece. Viktor kneels on the ground and teaches him how to lace them properly, gets him standing on his own two feet. The skates are nice, heat-molded boots and Akitsushiman steel blades, all impressively high quality for someone who’s not competitive. Soon enough, Viktor’s back on the ice, Yuuri grabbing onto a bodyguard for support as he takes off his skate guards. Shakily, Yuuri sets one foot on the ice, then the other, gliding slowly forward with his arms held out.

“You’re doing well, Highness!”

Yuuri looks up at him with a smile. “It’d help if I could, you know, _move,”_ he says, wiggling on his feet but clearly too scared to lift one off the ice.

Holding out his hand, Viktor skates forward, smiling as Yuuri grabs it. With newfound confidence, Yuuri straightens up too quickly, clinging to Viktor’s hand as his feet slide straight out from under him. Barely managing to soften the fall, Viktor leans over him.

“You know,” he says with a grin, “getting up after a fall is one of the most important lessons!”

Yuuri just chuckles and rolls onto his stomach, pushing himself to his knees. Looking up at Viktor, he sits back on his heels. “How do you make it look so easy?” he asks, holding out his hands.

Taking them, Viktor smiles. “I’ve been on the ice since I was six. Getting coached since I was seven. That’s twelve years of doing a _lot_ of skating.”

Putting one foot in front of him, Yuuri moves his other around, trying to get purchase with the toe pick. “That _is_ a lot of skating. I don’t have time to skate, I’ve gotta start working with my dad soon,” he says, finally pushing himself up. Viktor braces himself, supporting Yuuri as he stands. “I wish I _did_ have time, I wouldn’t suck so bad.” Steadying himself on Viktor, he brushes off his knees. Glancing at the side of the rink, he makes eye contact with a body guard and flashes a thumbs-up.

“You’re not as bad as Lyosha,” Viktor says absently. “He took half an hour to stop clinging to the boards.”

“Lyosha your twin brother or Lyosha your former rinkmate?”

“My brother,” Viktor responds, pushing backwards. Yuuri lets himself be pulled across the ice.

“How’s Katya on the ice?”

Viktor laughs. “Funnily enough, despite being my little sister she has no desire to step on the ice again. Ever, apparently. According to her, her fifth birthday celebration was boring.”

“Despite figure skating’s Up-And-Coming Living Legend teaching her and her friends how to ice skate?”

“Probably _because_ of that, if we’re being honest,” Viktor replies.

Yuuri chuckles. It only takes a few minutes for him to remember how to move, and soon enough he’s skating laps, Viktor moving backwards in front of him. They have some fun, Viktor teaching Yuuri to skate backwards and change direction as long-forgotten muscle memory kicks into gear. A quick study, Yuuri excels in his miniature lessons and doesn’t complain when he falls. He gasps happily when Viktor twizzles his way across the ice with aplomb.

“That’s so cool!” he says excitedly, before falling promptly in an attempt to imitate. Viktor shows him some more basic moves, before skating to the side of the rink for water. Yuuri follows.

“I shoulda brought water or something,” he sighs as he hits the boards to stop himself.

“We have a water fountain,” Viktor offers.

“I can’t drink from water fountains,” he says. “There’s too much risk.” Sounding more annoyed than anything else, Yuuri crosses his arms.

“I can run to the convenience store real fast,” Viktor replies. “Grab you a water or soda or whatever it is you want.”

“What’s a convenient store?”

“Convenience,” Viktor says, emphasizing the last syllable. “It has snacks and drinks and such. There’s one just down the road.”

“Can I go with you?”

“Are you allowed?”

Yuuri looks over to where Minako and Lilia are talking, before skating over to the area of the boards closest to them. Following closely, Viktor drinks his water.

“Minako-sensei,” Yuuri says, leaning over the wood.

“Yes, Your Highness?” She holds a finger up to Lilia, who nods, before walking over.

“I want something to drink, can I go to the convenience store with Vitya?”

“How far is this store?” She looks at Viktor with an eyebrow raised.

“Out the east entrance to the complex and halfway down the block,” Viktor responds.

Pursing her lips, she looks back at Yuuri. “And you’d be walking, I assume?”

“Yes,” Viktor says, “I’d figured that. It’s close enough that driving would be more of a hassle.”

As she considers this, Minako gives Yuuri an appraising look, before looking at his bodyguards. “How do you feel about this?”

“No sign of threats around the perimeter, ma’am, we’re fine.”

Minako looks at Yuuri again. “I want you back in your suit before you leave.”

“Okukawa-san,” one of the bodyguards says, “if we might suggest jeans and a t-shirt for His Royal Highness? We feel it would bring far less attention.”

“Very well,” she replies. “Jeans, a t-shirt, and sneakers need to be brought in, please.”

He nods as a bodyguard heads out the door, and Minako looks back at Yuuri. “You stay with Viktor, do you understand me, Your Highness? And you listen to your bodyguards, no questions asked. Is this clear?”

Yuuri nods. “Crystal, Minako-sensei. I know how to have bodyguards.” He sounds almost bored with this, as if he’s had the conversation hundreds of times before.

He likely _has._

“Highness,” Minako says as Yuuri steps off the ice, “remember the rules. Pre-approved bottled drinks only. No food products.”

“I _know,_ Sensei.” Yuuri plops down on the bench, tugging at his laces. When he gets his boots off, he opens up his gear bag, and Viktor winces as he goes to shove them in.

“Your Highness,” he says.

“Yes?” Yuuri turns, skates still in hand.

“If you don’t want those to rust, I’d suggest putting them away properly.”

Yuuri scowls, but nods. By the time Viktor’s gotten through basic blade care, and Yuuri’s skates are stowed safely in their soft guards, his bodyguard has come back with an outfit for him. Viktor guides Yuuri to the locker room to change.

 

~*~

 

“How do I look?” Yuuri asks, holding his arms out. The jeans and t-shirt he’s wearing are pretty much new, crisply-ironed and his shoes are clean, and he’s happy to see Viktor nod.

“It looks good, if a bit… neat.”

“What does that mean?” Yuuri asks, crossing his arms.

“It means most people don’t iron their jeans, and even fewer iron their t-shirts.” Viktor smiles, zipping his gear bag shut. “You look fine, Your Highness.”

When they head out, Yuuri becomes more and more confused as Viktor goes further into the building, rather than to the exits. He and his bodyguard follow diligently as Viktor takes a side door to a small staircase, ending at an office overlooking the rink. Viktor knocks, before opening the door.

“Vitya, what are we doing here? I thought we were getting drinks.”

“You don’t want me to leave my dog all alone, do you?” he asks with a wink.

Yuuri’s eyes and mouth widen simultaneously into an excited grin. “Makkachin is here?” He hurries over to look in the door.

When she hears her name, Makka’s ears perk up on the couch. Seeing Viktor, she rushes over to him, jumping up in a quest to lick his face. He kneels, running his hands through her fur. “You ready to go on a walk, girl?” he asks and her tail wags fiercely behind her as she jumps in circles.

Grabbing her leash, he coaxes her over and clips it to her collar. “I have a friend for you to meet.”

Yuuri stands on his tiptoes excitedly as Viktor leads the poodle towards him. Kneeling, he offers his hand, only to feel himself bowled over, the dog licking his face as he laughs. She’s quickly pulled off, Viktor apologizing to the bodyguards while they look at Yuuri to see if he’s alright. He nods, getting himself to his feet and affectionately reaching down to scratch Makka behind the ears. He's grown to love her so much over the last year it almost feels like greeting a friend. They head out, Minako handing a wad of paper to Viktor, and Yuuri watches as Viktor leads Makkachin next to him, leash loosely in hand.

“Can I hold it?” he asks as they walk.

Viktor looks over. “Hold what?”

“Makkachin’s leash?”

Smiling, Viktor holds it out. “Put it around your wrist,” he says, “and hold on to the long end.” He helps Yuuri get his hand situated properly, and then they continue. Walking Makkachin isn’t that difficult, and she’s content to sniff around as they make their way towards the store. Exiting the complex, they’re on a street with a moderate amount of traffic. One of Yuuri’s bodyguards places himself in front of them, another almost directly to the side, and he knows several are behind him, even though he doesn’t turn to look.

He shouldn’t draw attention to himself, or his bodyguards. They reach a small glass door set into a brick wall, and after handing Makkachin off to a bodyguard, Viktor and Yuuri head inside. One of the guards follows, keeping a distance while absently looking over the options, and Viktor drags Yuuri to an area with glass doors and drinks inside.

The first thing Yuuri notices is how many choices there are, and he’s dumbfounded as he looks over the selection. Finally, he finds familiar logos, and grabs a Cherry Coke off the shelf after confirming its identity with Viktor. They walk around for a bit, Viktor putting a few bags of chips and some candy into a basket he procured from somewhere. He stops at the end of an aisle and looks at Yuuri.

“Sorry,” he says, “I forgot I have your money.” He holds out the paper, the _money_ Minako had given him. “If you want to go pay for the soda so you can drink it, you can.”

Gingerly, Yuuri reaches out, taking the money from Viktor’s hand. He looks at it for a moment, then back up at Viktor. “How does this work?” he asks, puzzled. “I’ve never been to a store before. Or paid for anything.”

“You go up and give the person at the front your soda, and she’ll tell you how much it costs, and you give her the money, and she’ll give you back the change.”

“So I just hand this to her?” Yuuri holds up the folded bills, raising an eyebrow.

“No, that’s way too much you just… I’ll be done soon, I’ll take you up there.”

Yuuri follows him around similarly to a duckling. “So I just give her _one_ of these?”

“Yes,” Viktor says as he picks up a few granola bars. “The one that’s just bigger than the number she says.”

That makes a lot of sense, and Yuuri blushes as he hangs his head. Viktor only smiles reassuringly, patting Yuuri on the back of his shoulder.

 

At the counter, Yuuri sets his drink on the space available. The woman there takes it, pushes a few buttons, looks at Yuuri, and says something in Russian.

 _“Po-angliski?_ He doesn’t speak Russian.” Viktor smiles at the woman.

“Fifty-five rubles,” she says, returning Viktor’s smile.

Yuuri looks at the small wad of bills in his hand, finding an orangeish-yellow one with ‘100’ on it. Proudly, he holds it out, and she takes it and returns more bills and some coins which Yuuri shoves into his pants pocket. He takes the Coke when she holds it out to him, and watches as Viktor makes his purchases. The two chat animatedly, Viktor talking about his practices and the quads he’s working on, and he drops a bill in a jar on the counter before heading out. Yuuri takes Makkachin’s leash from the bodyguard standing near the door as Viktor grins.

“You did pretty well,” Viktor says, patting Yuuri on the back. Yuuri beams.

“I’ve never bought anything before,” he says. “When was _your_ first time in a store?” They turn to head back as Viktor makes a face.

“Honestly, I was a baby, so I don’t remember it. My maman used to take Lyosha and me with her to do the shopping.”

“Why didn’t she leave you at home?” Yuuri’s parents have never taken him on an errand, not that they run many to begin with, so it seems strange to expect children to participate.

“I mean, she did when we were old enough, but when we were children there was no one to leave us _with._ My mamulya worked, and you can’t leave babies and toddlers, or even kids on their own.” He looks at Yuuri. “Not everyone has staff, Highness.”

“I know that,” Yuuri says, blushing. It takes a moment of struggling with his drink before he gets it open and takes a sip. It’s easy to forget that having any staff at all is unusual, and that Viktor comes from a completely different background. Especially considering they met at parties. “Sorry,” he mutters as they turn into the complex.

“It’s nothing you need to apologize for,” Viktor says. “It probably didn’t occur to you.”

Yuuri nods. “So, who cleans your house?”

“Usually my maman does most of the daily stuff, my mamulya helps her with deep cleaning every other week. They have Lyosha there, and I help when I'm home.”

“You know how to clean a house?” Yuuri wonders if he’s being insensitive. Viktor’s always been nice about answering questions, and hasn’t said anything about Yuuri making him feel bad, but it’s hard to know.

“Yep,” Viktor replies cheerfully. “Top to bottom.”

They walk back towards the rink, and Yuuri’s bodyguards move to stay about two meters away at the most. Yuuri glances up. Viktor doesn’t look put off by them, instead smiling happily as they walk. Sometimes it seems like Viktor can do anything, has so many skills that Yuuri doesn't, and Yuuri wonders absently what it’s like in his shoes.

Not the fame, Yuuri has plenty of that (has never known anything different,) but the other stuff. The way he navigates the world so independently, without an entourage or minders. Even Yuuri’s father has staff to do much of the everyday things, and for the first time it occurs to Yuuri that he doesn’t even know what all the staff at the palace _do._ They keep it clean, keep everything well-maintained. Staff sets up and breaks down stuff for events, they handle dishes and the cars and make food, but there has to be far more Yuuri isn’t seeing and he knows it.

“Do you know how to drive?”

Viktor nods confirmation. “Yup!”

“Will you teach me?”

“No,” Viktor says. “Not until you're older and _definitely_ not without permission.”

Yuuri frowns. “Is it hard?”

Thoughtful, Viktor walks them over to a bench just outside the rink. “It is. It’s not exceedingly difficult, but you definitely need to pay attention and know what you’re doing.” He sits, and Yuuri sits next to him, pulling his legs up and crossing them on the bench, facing Viktor. Makka crawls onto the bench and turns a circle, draping herself over Yuuri’s lap and letting him run his fingers through her soft fur.

“What else can you do?” Yuuri doesn’t really know what sorts of skills Viktor has and he’s curious, so this is the best way he knows to frame the question.

Thankfully, Viktor’s used to his methods of information-gathering and understands. “I’ve painted a house,” he says, and Yuuri’s eyes widen. “I can fix some stuff on my car. I’ve dealt with government bureaucracy,” he says, smiling at Yuuri.

Yuuri laughs. “I’m fine with government stuff,” he says, “my whole _life_ is politics.” Government and bureaucracy have surrounded him from the moment he was born, the palace functioning as both his residence and the seat of Akitsushima’s political power, his father at its head.

Chuckling, Viktor nods. “Very true, Your Highness.”

“Hey, Vitya,” Yuuri says as something occurs to him, “what’s it like becoming famous? Like when you weren’t before?” From the day he’d been born, Yuuri’s been in the public eye both in Akitsushima and abroad, and his place in line for the throne ensures his continued visibility. One of the most recognizable people in his home country, he’s still marveling a little over the adventure to the convenience store. No bowing, no overly-wide grins, no eager attempts at placation. Just a genuine smile from the woman and happy small talk with Viktor, altogether an entirely different experience from what he’s used to. Viktor, though, grew up with that.

When he looks up, Viktor’s got a complicated expression on his face. “It’s hard to describe,” he says, “because sometimes it’s easy to forget. I’ve been training here with Yakov since before I was well-known, so going to the rink feels normal. Until fans or the media show up. But then when I’m in public I’m starting to get recognized more. It’s nice knowing so many people enjoy what I do, because I love it too, but I keep getting stopped when I go out. Sometimes I miss just not having to worry.” He pulls his hair tie out, letting it hang loose. With one hand, he combs it over his shoulder, picking up the ends to play with.

Swallowing, Yuuri looks down. “My sincerest apologies if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“What? No,” Viktor says, eyes and mouth wide. “You’re fine.” He settles back a bit, smiling. “I was just getting a little nostalgic, there!”

Yuuri knows bullshit when he sees it, and this is grade-a. Viktor’s press smile is remarkably good, especially for someone who’s only recently had to develop one, but life in court has given Yuuri enough ability to read minutiae of body and facial expressions that he’s not fooled. Why does Viktor feel the need to cover everything up with him? Unsure if he’s hurt or offended, he just smiles his best royal smile in return, settling into his court attitude. “Of course, Mr. Nikiforov. Nostalgia indeed. Forgive my presumption that you may be somewhat upset about something, I’m certain I was mistaken.”

Stunned into silence, Viktor stares at him for a long while before raising one eyebrow. “Seeing your public face is so _weird_ when it’s not one of those situations.”

“Yeah, I know,” Yuuri bites out with a pointed glare. He leans forward, pushing his face into Makkachin’s beautiful brown curls as he runs his fingers through.

Viktor chuckles. “I see. May I be casual, Your Highness?”

Yuuri gives a gesture of permission as he sits up straight, only to find himself being pulled into a half-armed hug. Viktor ruffles his hair some, almost painful, before patting him on the back.

“What was that for?” he asks, rubbing his scalp gingerly.

“You’re a good kid, Yuuri.”

Yuuri can’t help the swell of pride that bursts in his chest with that statement. Viktor’d understood, it seems, but he feels compelled to make sure. “You’re pretty good yourself,” he murmurs. “You know. Normally.”

Taken aback, Viktor looks almost confused before grinning again. “Thank you, Yuuri,” he says, and it sounds sincere and vulnerable and almost grateful and Yuuri smiles in return. Makkachin moves off to explore, her leash dragging behind her in the safety of the rink complex. Yuuri moves to sit next to Viktor, stretching his legs in front of him, ankles crossed. He allows himself to lean back against the bench (but not to slouch, a Crown Prince doesn't slouch and he almost envies the ease with which Viktor drapes himself over the slotted wood), fiddling with his fingers.

“Thanks,” he says, quiet in the peace of the late afternoon.

“For?” Viktor is sitting straight now, attention focused on Yuuri.

“For just being my friend. It's nice.” He's finding it hard to put words to what he means. ‘Normal’ doesn't fit, not when Yuuri’s normal involves all of the deference and respect due his title. ‘Casual’ isn't quite right, either. Viktor uses his title but it doesn't feel the same as everyone else, doesn't carry the same distance.

Remarkably intuitive, Viktor smiles with understanding, pulling Yuuri into a one-armed hug. Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor’s chest, grateful when Viktor moves to return it, and he sighs happily. He settles against Viktor’s side to watch the sunset, the weight of Viktor’s arm on his shoulders, and he has a small smile as he takes another sip of his soda. This trip to Russia has been particularly enjoyable, and Yuuri’s glad that a change in plans brought him to the rink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaand here's day two!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!!


	3. Might As Well Swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Tokens of Favor
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Yuuri: 17, Viktor: 21

“Viktor this is important or I wouldn’t call you so early.” Mari’s voice comes just a bit too loudly from the cellphone speaker, and Viktor groggily leans over to turn the light on.

“What happened?”

“Well, nothing  _ happened, _ but I have an idea. You know how my parents have been on the fence about getting Yuuri a dog for a few years now?”

“Yes,” Viktor says, slightly more awake now that the topic of conversation has moved to dogs. Makkachin shifts next to him.

“Well, they’re pretty much ok with it, but are now trying to figure out how to broach the subject. But I have a thought. You’re leaving for Hasetsu tomorrow, right? For the party?”

Viktor glances at the time on his phone. “In about fourteen hours actually, but yes.”

“Have you gotten Yuuri a gift yet? Because if you  _ haven’t, _ he’d be obligated to accept a birthday gift from you as his guest, and since you’re such a good friend of the family my parents would be obligated to let him keep it. I mean, they wouldn’t  _ have _ to, it’d just be in bad form not to. Anyways, essentially, what I’m  _ saying _ is—”

“That you want me to give Yuuri a puppy,” Viktor replies. “Right?”

“Exactly.”

“Any particular breed?”

“Well,” Mari says, “he adores Makkachin, but a dog that big would be difficult to travel with on a regular basis. Something smaller, and preferably hypoallergenic to make things easy on the staff.”

“I have an idea, say no more,” Viktor replies. “Leave it to me.”

 

~*~

 

Yuuri does his best to keep from bouncing on his heels as they wheel the stairway over to the plane. Viktor comes to the door, before turning and saying something to a person inside. Yuuri looks back at his parents who smile knowingly, if with a hint of exasperation. Having been on his best behavior, there's nothing he's done to warrant that sort of expression which only leads him to wonder. 

_ What is it Viktor’s done, then?  _

Viktor is walking down the stairs, a confident grin on his face but Makkachin, instead of running to Yuuri like she usually does, hesitates in the doorway. Whining, she runs into the plane and back to the door repeatedly, and Yuuri frowns as Viktor draws close. 

“Your Majesties,” he says, long braid falling over his shoulder as he bows, “it's a  _ pleasure _ to see you again.” Looking at Yuuri and Mari, he repeats the motion. “Your Highnesses.” Mari beams, struggling to hide excitement and Yuuri’s attention is pulled away as his mother clears her throat. 

“Mari-chan, Vicchan,” she says, “please don't make a habit of this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Viktor says, at the same time Mari sighs and says “okay, Kaa-san.”

“But you're okay with it?” Mari asks, smiling. “As it's for His Royal Highness’s birthday and—”

“We wouldn't have let him on the plane if we weren't,” Toshiya says, smiling. 

_ Let who on the plane? Viktor? What could he have done that they wouldn't want him coming out?  _

Viktor grins. “Your Highness,” he says to Yuuri, “as it would be unethical to wait until your birthday to give you your present, I'll present him to you now.”

_ Him?  _

Yuuri blinks. “Um, ok, yes, Mr. Nikiforov. I appreciate your generosity and well-wishes.”

“Yuuri,” Hiroko says, smiling. “You and Vicchan can be casual. Go.” She shoos them towards the plane. Viktor grins, grabbing Yuuri’s hand. 

“Come on, Yuuri!” Yuuri’s heart leaps in his chest as he flushes, running as he’s pulled along by Viktor. They go into the plane, and the excitement only rises when Yuuri sees a small brown poodle sitting with Makka, as an attendant holds its leash. 

Looking at Viktor excitedly, he bites his lower lip. “A dog?! You got me a  _ dog?!” _

“Happy birthday!” Viktor shouts with a grin that pours love as he rushes to take the small dog’s leash. Makkachin takes the opportunity to jump on Yuuri, greeting him with a lick when he gets his face close enough. He pushes her off gently as the small dog is led towards him, and Viktor picks him up, putting him gently in Yuuri’s arms. 

Soft and warm, the dog lets Yuuri hold him close to his chest, giving the occasional lick on Yuuri’s chin. Cradling him carefully, he makes his way down the stairs. The dog stays patiently in his lap during the drive to the palace, letting Yuuri run fingers through his curls and scratch behind his ears. Just before they come to a stop the dog licks his chin, panting adorably and Yuuri’s heart melts. Before getting out, he looks at Viktor. “Thank you,” he says softly. Viktor’s grin widens and he nods. 

“You're welcome.”

The door is opened and Yuuri gets out carefully. Walking a few feet away he looks back at Viktor, smiling as the dog begins wiggling in his grasp. 

The next thing Yuuri knows the dog is running across the grounds, and he chases after. It leaps all over the place, running through shrubbery and under benches in an attempt to evade capture. Still, it’s so cute and so fluffy and it fills his heart with such love that he blurts out the first name that comes to mind in an attempt to call it back to him once he manages to get close enough.

“Vicchan!” he shouts, eyes widening when it registers. He freezes in place and the dog slows to a stop in front of him, before turning around and sitting happily on the ground. There are footsteps as Viktor comes up beside him, breathing hard.

“Did you just call him by your mother’s nickname for me?”

“I don’t know!” Yuuri retorts as he feels a blush rising to his cheeks, his heart pounding from the exertion. “It just sorta… came out!”

Viktor throws his head back when he laughs, the sun glinting off his hair as brightly as the snow around them. Yuuri looks back at the dog, squatting down as he holds his hand out. Making kissing noises, he tries to coax the dog over.

“C’mere Fluffy,” he tries. The dog just sits still. “Inu-chan? Rex?” No movement. Yuuri determinedly avoids Viktor’s gaze as he squats next to him. “Maybe a strong name… Masaru? Amadeus?” he tries tentatively. The dog merely pants at him in response. “Noboru? No? Don’t wanna be named after my grandpa?”

Viktor holds his hand out next to him, flashing Yuuri a dazzling smile and he feels a warmth settle heavily in his chest. “Vicchan,” Viktor says as he makes ‘come here’ movements with his fingers. To Yuuri’s chagrin, the dog trots happily over, first licking Viktor’s hand before coming to sit in front of Yuuri. Picking him up, Yuuri pulls the dog to his chest.

“Are you serious?” he asks softly. “Vicchan? Really?” The dog barks twice in his arms, licking his face a few times.

Laughter bubbles up next to Yuuri as Viktor leans over, giving the dog a scratch behind the ears. “It looks like you’re stuck with two Vicchans, Yuuri.”

“I can’t believe you’re happy about having the same name as my  _ dog,” _ Yuuri retorts.

Viktor takes Makkachin’s leash from the attendant holding it with a quiet ‘thank you,’ and walks with Yuuri towards the palace. His parents are standing at the top of the back step, both wearing smiles.

“Yuuri,” his father says, eyes twinkling behind a stern expression, “I expect you to take responsibility for the pup. I don’t want to see you passing off every walk and all training on staff. If you’re going to have a dog,  _ you’re _ going to be the one to take care of him.” 

It’s clear to Yuuri that he’s not angry or upset, and with a sigh of relief he gives a slight bow at his shoulders. “Yes, Otou-san,” he responds. “I’ll only ask people to care for him when I’m unable. Thank you for allowing me to keep him.” Toshiya nods approvingly. 

“Have you named him?”

Cheeks getting even warmer, Yuuri nods. “I have,” he replies. “Well, he named himself, I just- it just sort of happened? I didn’t plan it this way, not even a little but he just kinda…”

“What’s his name, dear?” Hiroko asks.

Yuuri just swallows, feeling heat crawl down the back of his neck and his chest and his heart stops when he hears Viktor’s cheerful shout from right next to him.

“Vicchan!”

Hiroko beams while Mari laughs uncontrollably next to her.

 

~*~

 

Viktor’s week at the palace passes quickly. The party is fun, albeit still somewhat disinteresting in the manner that formal events usually are, but that night Yuuri suggests they go to the hot spring on the property. The dogs follow them, and Yuuri lets them into a small side yard with a cooler, shallow pool for the dogs to enjoy. He and Viktor go through the small building, bathing quickly before heading outside. 

They sink slowly into the pool, Yuuri sitting in his favorite spot at the back, near the fence. Viktor sighs happily, hair tucked into a messy bun. “I wonder how it would be to go swimming in here,” he muses.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, “you always wonder and then you always try and then you always hit your foot on one of the rocks around the edge, and then you always get upset that I let you go swimming. If you want to go swimming we can go to the pool.”

“We went to the pool yesterday.”

Yuuri sighs. His hair is starting to get long, brushing gently against his shoulders as he looks down. He likes it, he just wishes it wasn't the  _ traditional _ thing to do. Part of him wants to shave it, part of him wants to keep growing it out. He just wishes he didn’t feel obligated one way or the other.

Viktor leans against the rocks, sinking until his chin is barely above the water. “This is nice, Yuuri,” he says. Something heavy weighs on him, there's a sadness that hadn't been there the last time they’d seen each other. 

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri blurts. “You… look sad,” he says in explanation when Viktor looks at him. 

“Ah, I’m just thinking about the breakup a few months ago,” he says softly. “Sometimes I miss him.”

“Wasn’t he a total ass?”

Viktor smiles. “Yeah. I'm not going back, don't worry. I just miss… I don't know what I miss.” Something about him is beautiful even in his sadness and Yuuri looks down, uncomfortable. It's not that he finds it pleasant, but even when Viktor is like this; genuine, comfortable enough to let himself  _ feel,  _ Yuuri feels nothing but warmth, nothing but kindness and a desire to stay by Viktor’s side and in that moment he comes to accept what he has, somehow, known for months. 

On some level, he loves Viktor. It doesn’t feel romantic, he’s not even sure if it goes beyond admiration or an incredibly deep friendship, but ‘love’ is the word that best encapsulates the feeling he has in his chest and he embraces it, holds it tight in his heart. 

“You know how it is?” Viktor looks up at the stars in that way he does when he needs to trick himself into a sense of privacy. “That feeling when you can’t tell if someone wants you or who you are?”

“Mhmm.” Yuuri agrees, because he does and Viktor knows it.

“I hate it,” Viktor says.

“Me, too,” Yuuri responds.

Viktor smiles, gives a deep, slow sigh and sits up. “Let's go swim,” he says. “I like the pool better.”

 

~*~

 

The dim lighting of the pool house means that there’s a sense of secrecy about their late-night swim, even though attendants were told when the dogs were taken to be washed. Yuuri had also requested sparkling water and fruit be brought for them to snack on. Which is where he is now, picking at a bunch of grapes. Viktor swims over. He knows Yuuri knows he’s not in the best of moods right now, but Yuuri also knows when to leave things alone and he’s doing so magnificently. Still, Viktor can’t help his curiosity.

“Yuuri?” he says, and it’s quiet even in the echo of the poolhouse.

“Mm?” He’s got half a piece of apple sticking out of his mouth, but it’s quickly pulled in.

“What is it you want from me?” Resting his arms and chin on the side of the pool, Viktor lets his feet kick idly in the water.

“What are you talking about, Vitya?”

“You haven’t asked me for anything,” Viktor says softly, staring at the floor-length windows that surround them. “Usually people have a goal.” He stops there, closing his eyes. Dwelling on this wasn’t something he wanted to do on this trip. He’s been looking forward to this since they’ve planned it, he gave Yuuri a dog and they’ve had so much fun around the Palace and Hasetsu. It was the perfect distraction, until now.

Yuuri comes up next to him, mimicking his pose and staring out the windows. “You’re my friend,” he says after a long pause. “You’re just Vitya, and that’s all I want.” Shoving his face into his arms, he lets out a short breath. “I just want you to be yourself.”

It’s not new information so much as confirmation of what he’d understood from Yuuri the first time he’d seen him at the rink in St. Petersburg. No masks, no pretenses. Yuuri and Vitya and that’s it. Viktor sighs. It’s a weight off his shoulders, it’s reassurance he needs, and he smiles at his friend. Swimming around Yuuri, he goes over to the fruit platter, shining silver in the light, and grabs a piece of melon. Soft, flavorful, it’s perfect and Viktor takes another piece as soon as he finishes the first, juice running down his fingers. There’s a ledge on the side of the pool, perfect for sitting on, and Viktor perches there, savoring the fresh fruit.

Moving to sit next to him, Yuuri is holding a crystal glass with sparkling water and berries in it. He holds out another, this time with strawberry, in Viktor’s direction. It’s nice, having the place to themselves. Yuuri reaches back and grabs a cherry, popping it in his mouth with a smile, grabs a small handful and offers some to Viktor. He accepts gladly. 

“You remember those cherry tarts? Last year at the party at Madame Lilia’s friend’s place. The ones we stole?”

“You mean the ones  _ you _ stole? Only one of us had fruit filling in his pockets and it wasn’t me.”

Yuuri blushes. “I stole one for you.”

“Mhmm,” Viktor replies. “What about them?”

“They tasted really good,” Yuuri says. “I should have asked for some for the party.”

There’s the jingle of dog tags in the distance, the clack of nails on the marble floor, and the sound of splashing as two dogs take simultaneous flying leaps into the pool, drenching both Viktor and Yuuri. An attendant runs in after, prostrating herself deeply.

“Your Royal Highness,” she says, almost trembling, “I beg your pardon for allowing the dogs to get away from me. I completely accept responsibility for them escaping into the hallways, and I promise to do better.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says. “If you could bring extra towels so Mr. Nikiforov and I can dry them off before we head to my rooms, that would be great. They can be brushed again tomorrow if need be.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” she says, “and once again, I apologize for the inconvenience, Sir, I will ensure that in the future I will take every measure to prevent this.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says, almost irritated. “The towels, please.” Bowing, the attendant hurries out of the room. Vicchan paddles his way over to Yuuri, uses his paws to pull himself over Yuuri’s shoulder and onto the side of the pool, before sniffing at the fruit platter. He backs away when Viktor makes a noise at him, shaking the excess water off his fur and getting it all over both them and the food. Noticing Vicchan, Makka paddles over to the edge of the pool, pulling herself out and shaking herself dry as well, uncaring that she’s now gotten water all over the floor as she trots over to the attendant now entering with towels.

 

They get out, showering before drying both themselves and the dogs, and don fluffy bathrobes before walking back to Yuuri’s room. Viktor watches as he walks, with all the bearing of a prince despite the bathrobe and sopping wet hair, and he wonders just how it feels to move through the world entirely sure of your place in it. Attendants give short bows as they pass, Yuuri greeting them with a habitual nod, and they’re just standing in front of the elevator when he gives a deep sigh.

“Everything okay?” Viktor asks.

Shrugging, Yuuri pokes at the button again, just before the doors open. They and the dogs get in, and he tells it to take them upstairs. “Yeah,” he says after a while.

“Is it all the bowing and scraping?”

There’s a long breath. “Just the assumption I’m going to yell. I’d said it was fine, I meant it.” The doors open, and they get out, turning down the hall.

“Does it ever get weird?” Viktor asks.

“Hm? Does what get weird?” Yuuri catches the attention of a passing attendant, holding a finger up to Viktor. “We’re done with the pool,” he says, “and going to bed for the night. Please alert the night guard so they know we won’t be wandering.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” they say with a bow, hurrying off.

“That.” Viktor says. “All of… that.”

“All of…” Yuuri trails off. “Oh, the staff and stuff?”

“Yeah. And just…” Not sure how to put it into words, Viktor just looks around. Yuuri being royal is nothing new, and he’s been to the palace and seen all of this before, but sometimes it just hits a bit harder than it normally would. Sometimes he realizes he knows far less than he thought, and he wonders if this is how Yuuri feels when he’s confronted by a reality of life Viktor finds unremarkable. Yuuri marvels at dehydrated cups of soup, at the idea of clothing stores and taking public transport and it’s all so normal to Viktor he’s constantly taken by surprise. The palace is huge, the royal family almost revered, and Viktor can’t imagine how it would be to have grown up like this.

“Just…” Yuuri draws the word out in a question, furrowing his brows as they turn down a hall. Makkachin and Vicchan run ahead, bouncing excitedly in front of Yuuri’s room.

“Everything,” Viktor says, gesturing at the palace around them. 

Yuuri pushes the door to his room open. “I don't see why it would, I grew up here.”

“Even when people are bowing and falling over themselves?” He shuts the door behind them, following Yuuri into his bathroom. Yuuri holds out a towel. 

“It gets weird if they carry on too much, but no. I'm a prince, Viktor.” Matter-of-fact, Yuuri dries his hair. “I've never known what it's like to be treated like an actual person.” He freezes, a blush spreading across his face. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I shouldn't complain.”

“You're allowed,” Viktor says.

“Oh, wah, I'm so rich and everyone gives me what I want, oh no,” Yuuri scoffs, tossing his towel to the side. “I live in a palace, I'm not going to complain about that.”

“You weren’t,” Viktor responds. “You were complaining about everyone treating you differently.”

“Like I’m better, yeah.” Blushing, Yuuri makes his way past. Out of habit born from watching his sister when she was a toddler, Viktor grabs Yuuri’s towel off the floor, putting both in the hole in the cupboard over the concealed hamper. When he turns to leave, Yuuri’s staring at him with a frown. “I didn’t mean to make you pick up after me,” he says softly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Viktor smiles, “I’m used to picking up after Katya; I do it automatically.”

Yuuri sighs as he pulls out his pajamas, changing into the soft cotton pants and t-shirt while Viktor does the same. They crawl into bed, laying on their backs as they look up at the glowing planets Yuuri’d put up as a kid. It’s shockingly normal when you can’t see the rest of the room, and Viktor lets out a sigh. “You know,” he says. “It’s hard when people are always on guard around you for one reason or another. You don’t feel like you can connect with people. It can be isolating.” He’s recently started feeling the pressure of fame, recently started wearing Russia’s hopes and dreams and expectations in the same way Yuuri wears his official robes, and it’s no longer any wonder why Yuuri values his friendship so highly.

“Vitya…” Yuuri whispers, and it sounds more tender somehow than Viktor had expected.

“And then people close start pulling away, too. And then you just start to wonder if people will ever let themselves see you as a person beyond you as a public figure.” There’s a chasm, Viktor has realized in the last few months, growing between himself and everyone at the rink. He’s already feeling it with Georgi, and the newer skaters are all too in awe at the start to listen to what he’s actually saying. He can’t leave the house without being recognized, and it’s started to weigh on him in a way he’d never expected, as much as he loves attention. Loves the thrill of performing for a crowd, the thrill of them enjoying what he does, he doesn’t love the invisible isolation it causes. Yawning, he pulls the blankets up just a little bit, feeling sleep dulling the edges of his consciousness.

The dogs, wet as they are, jump up on the bed despite having been told very firmly that wet dogs were supposed to sleep in their own, heated beds. Yuuri just sighs and rolls over, facing Viktor. “You know,” he says, “it gets easier when you have someone who understands.” 

It’s reassurance in Yuuri’s indirect way, that Viktor’s not entirely alone and that Yuuri’s not unfamiliar with the situation. It’s an offer to be there, and Viktor smiles, scooting himself down a bit as he turns to face Yuuri. “I know,” he says. “Now, sleep, you said we were going to the beach tomorrow?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Yuuri says. “I got approval. Excited?”

“Only if I’m well rested,” Viktor says. 

“Then go to sleep,” Yuuri mutters. He’s one to talk, but Viktor lets himself sink into the pillows. 

He’s almost there, almost asleep when Yuuri shifts next to him. “I should have asked for a picnic,” he says.

“Ask for sandwiches, they’re easy.” Viktor rolls onto his stomach, settling back into the bed. It’s warm, the sheets are a cloud around him and he sighs happily, letting himself slip further into unconsciousness.

“I should have gotten a blow-up raft, too,” Yuuri says absently. “Or pool noodles. Maybe scuba gear.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, because if there’s one thing he loves it’s sleep, considering the small amount he usually gets, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to let Yuuri take that away from him now that its within his grasp.

“What?” Yuuri asks, yawning again.

“We can grab stuff from the pool house, we’ll be fine.” Sighing, Viktor settles again.

He’s so incredibly close when Yuuri moves nearer to him. “What if it rains?”

“I thought you told me to go to sleep,” Viktor bites.

“Yeah, but still.”

“We’ll deal with it, Yuuri, we’ll already be in the water anyway.” He wonders if it would be too much to put a pillow over his head now.

“What if the wind blows the dogs into the ocean?”

“I’ll throw  _ you _ into the ocean if I don’t get some sleep,” Viktor says. Being interrupted once was fine. Twice was annoying, but livable. Three times is too much, four almost offensive, and the blankets are warm and his mind is fuzzy and liquid and he just wants to finally, finally let himself drift into unconsciousness.

Yuuri giggles, then hugs him. “Sorry,” he whispers. “Sleep well, Vitya.”

“Dobroy nochi,” Viktor murmurs, smiling.  _ Good night. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooof so late today, but tomorrow's chapter is done and so should be up relatively early. Thanks!!!!!


	4. The Dawn is Breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Freedom
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Yuuri: 19, Viktor: 23

Yuuri stands on the tarmac as their luggage is unloaded, pulling his jacket tightly around his body as he stares at the plane. “Where’re your moms?” He asks, teeth chattering in the cold. Tempted to pull his hair out of the knot it’s in for warmth, he instead scratches Vicchan’s head.

Viktor clicks through his texts until he finds their conversation. “Almost here!” he answers cheerfully, scratching at Makkachin’s ears when she jumps up on him.

“They’re _late,”_ Yuuri grumbles, clutching Vicchan to his chest.

“They hit traffic, vashe Vysochestvo.” Viktor sticks to the Russian form of address, a sort of secret nickname they’d devised when Yuuri’d complained that he never got to have any sorts of nicknames. Yuuri smiles happily, but frowns again at the gate.

“How much longer?” He’s cold and it feels like they’ve been waiting forever. Whenever he goes anywhere, the drivers are always there at the scheduled times, if not a few minutes before. It’s unusual for Yuuri to be kept waiting like this, and he fidgets in place.

“We’ve been waiting for all of three minutes,” Viktor says calmly. “If you want to act normal on the trip, this is part of it.”

“Your Highness,” an attendant says, stepping forward, “you’re more than welcome, of course, to wait in the plane.”

Yuuri glances over at Viktor, standing casually with one hand in his pocket and Makka’s leash around his wrist, the other holding his phone. “I’m ok,” Yuuri says, “thank you.” A smile plays at Viktor’s lips. Over their years of friendship, Viktor’s never begrudged him his status, never once scoffed or said he was being ridiculous, but at the same time, Yuuri knows Viktor finds him just a little bit ridiculous. Yuuri’s goal on this trip, though, is to see what it’s like to live normally, like Viktor does, and so he follows the older man’s lead.

It’s only a (freezing) few minutes more until a minivan pulls through the gates, driving slowly towards them. The way Viktor perks up, it’s clear they’re his moms. The van pulls up in front of him, and Yuuri smiles as Alexei gets out. Viktor’s Maman follows, and then his Mamulya and his little sister, Katya.

“Your Highness,” his Maman says, “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You, too!” Yuuri exclaims, rushing forward to shake her hand. “I’m excited to see your house!”

It’s not the first time he’s visited Russia and Viktor’s family, but before they’d stayed in St. Petersburg, and then Moscow, dropping by his Uncle Nikolai’s to spend some time with him and Yuri. It had been fun, but Yuuri’d ended up staying in his own hotel room with a pair of bodyguards and had, once he’d gotten home, expressed displeasure that it’d still felt forced, formal. It was Viktor’s mothers’ idea to propose Yuuri visit their house when Viktor went home the next year. The King and Queen had approved, and Yuuri had been given a week to spend in Yekaterinburg.

And now, here they are.

“We’re excited to have you, Your Highness.”

“Yuuri!” Katya runs over, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. He hugs her in return before leaning down.

“Katya-chan,” he says, and she giggles at the Japanese honorific, “remember what I told you about when we’re in public?”

“Sorry, Your Majesty.”

“Highness,” Yuuri corrects. “Majesty’s for my mom and dad, since they’re the King and Queen.”

“Ok, Your Highness,” she replies. Yuuri ruffles her hair with a smile. “You’re gonna stay with us?”

“Yup! For a whole week!” Yuuri says.

Alexei claps him on the back, startling him. “Welcome to Yekaterinburg, Highness,” he says with a grin.

Turning, Yuuri grins. “Lyosha, hi! Thank you! I look forward to seeing the city, and appreciate your family’s hospitality.” There are amused grins all around. Yuuri has a habit of slipping into social scripts when he’s excited or anxious, but Viktor has reassured him that his family finds his occasional over-formality more endearing than anything else at this point.

The luggage is loaded into the car, and Yuuri’s bodyguards pull up behind them. They’ve rented the house next door to Viktor’s mothers’, and will be staying there for the duration of the trip. Everyone’s been informed that the main areas of the house have been bugged, with permission, purely so Yuuri’s entourage can hear any disturbances and react accordingly. Viktor and his family haven’t said anything about being uncomfortable, and Viktor is more than used to the surveillance that comes with being Yuuri’s friend, so it seems like there aren’t any issues.

“I have a request,” Yuuri says, loud enough for his bodyguards to hear. Everything around him pauses save the two guards loading the last of the suitcases into the back of the minivan. “I’d like, on this trip, to be treated normally. Completely. Whenever we’re in the Nikiforova household. If I have a problem with someone’s conduct, I’ll address it with them personally,” he says, looking out at his bodyguards.

 _“Completely_ normally, Your Highness?” Viktor’s maman, Hilaire asks.

Yuuri nods with determination. “Yes. Please.”

Alexei moves the seat in the middle forward. “Highness,” he says, “would you like the bucket seats or the back?”

Yuuri glances into the car. It’s small, and there won’t be as much leg room as he’s used to, especially not with two dogs, but he wants to sit next to Viktor and let Vicchan rest on the seat, so he just smiles. “I’ll sit in the back. I’ve never ridden in the back of a minivan before.”

He hears a snort from behind him, before Viktor moves to the open door. “After you, vashe Vysochestvo.”

Yuuri squeezes himself into the back of the car, sitting almost sideways on the seat to give his legs enough room. He buckles his seatbelt and Viktor crawls in next to him, keeping his legs as close to his body as possible while Alexei folds the seat back up. Vicchan is placed on the seat between them, and Makka crawls in to lay between the bucket seats. Alexei and Katya get in, careful to avoid stepping on the dog, and soon enough they’re pulling out of the airport.

The drive isn’t too long, and Yuuri watches excitedly out the window. As they pass signs, he mutters under his breath, doing his best to read them quickly before they vanish. He feels hot breath on the back of his neck.

“What are you doing?” Viktor says, leaning over his shoulder.

“Trying to read,” Yuuri says absently.

“How’s that working?” Viktor’s presence, just inches away, causes Yuuri to shiver slightly.

“Not well,” he says. It comes out breathier than he’d hoped and he turns back towards Viktor, only to end up inches from his face. He can’t stop his eyes flicking down to Viktor’s lips, and only barely manages to keep from biting his own. His subtle fidgets won’t do, here. Viktor knows every one of them, can read Yuuri like a book, and he’s only gotten better with time. Will only _continue_ to get better, and Yuuri curses whatever mental process it was that made him fall for his best friend. Viktor’s lips part, drawing Yuuri’s attention again, and there’s a moment of hesitation before he leans back.

“I can work on your reading with you,” Viktor offers, scratching the back of his head. It’s been years since they’d promised to help each other learn their language, and though Yuuri’s conversationally comfortable with his Russian, he hasn’t practiced reading enough for it to come easily.

“That would be nice. How’s your Japanese coming?”

“Eh. _Daijobu.” It’s alright._ Yuuri smiles, settling in for the drive.

 

~*~

 

When they pull up outside of his childhood home, Viktor grins. It’s been a couple of years since he’s been back in Yekaterinburg, and he’s missed it. Yuuri’s eyes shine as they come to a stop in the driveway. It’s impossible to figure out how he feels about the setup, even though Viktor’d warned repeatedly that it wouldn’t be anything like what he was used to. Viktor gets out of the car first, holding his hand out for Yuuri. As Yuuri crawls out of the back, his eyes widen, lips parting as he takes in the neighborhood.

The houses surrounding them are nice, Viktor knows, but they must seem plain next to the opulence of the palace. Yuuri gives a wave as his bodyguards pull in next door, before turning back to the car. Alexei’s gotten their bags out of the back, and Katya is staring at the sheer amount of luggage Yuuri’s bodyguards are unloading.

“Is that yours, Your Highness?” She looks up at Yuuri and he smiles.

“‘Yuuri’ is fine at the house, Katya-chan. Only a few of them,” he replies. Viktor glances back at the pile of luggage Alexei has pulled out of the back. Most of _that_ is Yuuri’s as well, and it occurs to Viktor that he's never really seen Yuuri _travel._

It also occurs to Viktor that his childhood bedroom is not _that_ big. “How much of _that,”_ he says, pointing at the pile waiting next to a bodyguard, “is coming into our house?”

“None,” Yuuri says. “It's just some extra stuff in case of surprise formal event.”

Alexei laughs. “Like extra outfits or…” Trailing off, he glances at the pieces of Yuuri’s matched luggage now being carried into the other house. Viktor picks up his duffel and gear bags, setting them on top of his suitcase.

“A few, yeah,” Yuuri says. Viktor extends the handle on his bag. “Tuxes, black formalwear in case of a sudden death or funeral, a few traditional outfits… Shoes. Circlets. Extra toiletries, medications… I don't remember what all I have but none of it is important right now.” He turns and starts walking into the house.

Viktor smiles. “Yuuri,” he says, drawing out the word as sweetly as he can. Never in his life has he seen Yuuri in any capacity but royal, and he can’t deny that he’s looking forward to the week, just a little bit. Maybe a lot.

Yuuri turns. “Yes?”

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Pointing at Yuuri’s luggage, his delight only grown when Yuuri’s jaw drops. With wide eyes, he looks back at Viktor.

“All of it?!” he squeaks.

Alexei laughs. “You want normal, Yuuri? This is normal. Grab your messenger bag and one of the suitcases. I’ll get the rest,” he says. “Katya, help Vitka with his stuff.”

Katya nods, skipping over and hugging Viktor before grabbing his duffel bag. Smart girl, she knows Viktor doesn’t like anyone carrying his skates. Yuuri swings his messenger bag over his shoulders, before glancing worriedly at his luggage. “How do you make them long?”

“What? The handles?” Alexei asks. Looking at Viktor’s bag and back, he nods.

“Yeah.”

Alexei walks over, pushes the button on the handle of one of the bags and pulls it out. Yuuri goes to reach for it, but Alexei merely gives a pointed glance at another suitcase. Scowling, Yuuri stands over it for a second, before grabbing the handle, depressing the button, and pulling it most of the way out. A wide grin splits his face as he looks back at Viktor and starts pulling the bag towards the house.

They manage to get his things upstairs in short order, storing his gear bag in the closet with Viktor’s. When the door is closed behind them, suitcases take up much of the floor. Yuuri stands in the bedroom, looking around with his mouth slightly open. A double bed is along one wall, a desk at its foot with bookshelves along the back wall. Opposite the bed and desk, Viktor has a dresser and a very large beanbag chair under the windows running the length of the wall. He opens a few of them so the room can air out before turning back around.

“Well,” he says, “this is home.”

Yuuri smiles. “I like it,” he says, sitting on the bed and bouncing a few times. It’s not nearly as soft as his own, Viktor knows, but Yuuri’s not one to complain about stuff like that. Travelling the world and staying in a variety of hotels and other assorted living situations has given him the ability to sleep pretty much anywhere, and he uses it mercilessly at times.

The door opens and Katya pokes her head in. “Maman wants you to come help with dinner,” she says. “Both of you.”

“Tell her we’ll be right down.”

“Okay!” she replies, running down the hall.

“Knock next time!” Viktor shouts uselessly as he shuts the door after her. Yuuri giggles from the bed, and he feels a flush crawl down the nape of his neck. “Sorry,” he says, scratching at the back of his head. “She should know better by now.”

Opening one of his suitcases, Yuuri looks through the clothing within. “Jeans are okay, right?” he asks looking back up.

“Of course,” Viktor replies. “You could probably go down in pajamas and my moms wouldn’t care.”

“Really?” Grin splitting his face, Yuuri pulls out a pair of cotton pants and a t-shirt, setting them on his bed. Squatting back down, he starts rifling through the suitcase again, frowning after a short while. Pulling another bag towards him, he pushes the first away and opens the second next to it. This one is filled mostly with books and a few electronics that Yuuri prefers not to carry in his messenger bag, but still he doesn’t find what he needs.

The last bag he checks is his shoe bag and, of course, that’s where he finds the socks he was apparently looking for. Pulling out a pair of slippers as well, Yuuri sets them near the bed. He strips off his shirt and Viktor’s breath catches in his throat as he wonders just when Yuuri started working out. _How_ he started working out, because where he’s always had some softness to him, now his entire body is lean muscle and smooth skin and when Yuuri’s pants come off and his thighs are on full display, Viktor looks away. He really, _really_ shouldn’t be checking out his best friend, and he highly doubts Yuuri would want more invasion of his privacy than he already deals with on a regular basis.

Pointedly, Viktor keeps his eyes fixed on the windows overlooking his back yard, smiling when he sees Makkachin and Vicchan running around on the grass. The dogs are safe. He can stare at the dogs all he wants and Yuuri will just attribute it to his fondness for the animals rather than a direct attempt to keep his eyes averted.

Not staring at his best friend should _not_ be this much of a problem. They’ve been changing clothes in front of each other for years, and it’s never _been_ a problem so Viktor can’t figure out why, all of a sudden, it _is._

“Vitya?”

“Hmm?” he turns around and is more grateful than he is disappointed to see Yuuri fully-clothed in his pajamas, with slippers on his feet.

“I’m, uh, ready,” Yuuri says, scratching the back of his head. He’s pulled his hair loose from the knot it was in, letting it hang around his shoulders unhindered. Half is brushed behind one ear, and it’s only because his glasses are on that the other half isn’t falling across his face.

 

When they get downstairs, Viktor is put to work slicing vegetables for the stew they’re making. His maman looks at Yuuri with a smile.

“How much kitchen experience do you have, sweetie?” she asks.

“I’ve been in the kitchens many times,” Yuuri says with confidence.

“Have you ever made anything?”

Yuuri looks surprised, then puzzled as he finally realizes what she meant to begin with. “Tea.” Hanging his head, Yuuri stares at his hands, rubbing the base of his palm with his thumb.

He’s clearly surprised when Hilaire smiles at him, placing her hands gently on his shoulders. “That’s alright,” she says, “everyone starts somewhere! Why don’t we get you an apron and I’ll talk you through the first time, alright?”

Yuuri grins and gives a nod. “I can do that!”

He helps as much as he’s able, shuttling ingredients back and forth to Viktor for chopping and to Hilaire for doing whatever it is needs to be done with them once they’ve been cut. The stew comes together in short order, and as Hilaire pulls dishes out of the cupboard Yuuri carefully trucks them over to the table. Leaning against the doorjamb, Viktor watches as Yuuri starts trying to set the table. Carefully, he sets a small plate for rolls at each chair, and then the cutlery, frowning adorably as he tries to figure out how they should be arranged. Closing his eyes, he seems to run through an imaginary table setting, picturing it in his head before nodding determinedly and setting forks, knives, and spoons in place.

As well as he does with the silverware, he’s entertainingly miserable at folding the napkins, and each ends up a crumpled ball on top of the plates until he collects them all, flattening them and folding them into quarters.

“Vitka.” Alexei’s voice startles him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah? What?” Viktor turns around to look at his brother.

Grinning, Alexei gestures back at the pot bubbling on the stove. “Maman says that’s almost ready. Stop making googly eyes and help me get the bowls.”

“I’m not making googly eyes,” Viktor whispers ferociously as his face and neck grow warm. A glance behind him tells him Yuuri’s preoccupied with the napkin placement, and he shoves his finger into Alexei’s chest. “I’m not making eyes at him, he’s my best friend. He doesn’t know how to set a table, it’s interesting to watch. I’ve never seen him try to pretend to be normal before and I’ve been looking forward to this for months now and I’m going to enjoy it whether you like it or not.”

“Mhmm,” is the infuriatingly smug response. “Get the bowls, Vitka.”

“Stop bossing me around and I will.”

“Boys,” their mamulya says as she walks in from the back porch.

Viktor pulls open the cupboard, grabbing a stack of bowls before turning to put it on the counter. He almost drops them when he notices Yuuri leaning against the doorjamb with a smile. Alexei snorts, and Yuuri seems to snap out of whatever jet-lagged daze he’s in, flushing with embarrassment.

“Do you need help?” he asks, gesturing at the dishes in Viktor’s arms.

“No,” Hilaire responds. “You’ve done a lot, Yuuri. We’re just going to serve up the stew and pull the rolls out of the oven. We can bring your food to you if you want.”

Yuuri glances at Viktor, who’s doing his best to keep his face neutral. “No,” he says, “I can carry a bowl of soup. I’ll be fine.”

Viktor smiles. Yuuri’s a good kid, easygoing and eager to learn, and it’s serving him well.

 

~*~

 

Katya pokes her head into Viktor’s bedroom, again without knocking. “Yuuri,” she says, “I have… There’s a princess story I’m reading? I have some questions.”

“What sort of questions?” Yuuri asks. He manages to sound interested, maybe he actually _is,_ and Katya smiles as she comes in.

“I wanna know if it’s true,” she says. “I know the story isn’t but like the stuff in it.”

Yuuri pulls his legs up on the bed, scooting back against the wall. He pats the seat next to himself with a smile. Katya crawls up next to him. She has a short chapter book in front of her, colorful (if uneven) strips of paper sticking out at various places like bookmarks. She certainly takes after their mamulya. She opens it to the first page.

“Ok. Yuuri. I have to ask. Can you walk into your closets?”

Viktor sighs. It seems like many of these questions are ones he could have answered himself, if she’d thought to ask. Still, it’s rare to know royalty well enough to ask questions like this, and he can see why she’d want a primary source. The splendor of the palace is truly indescribable, and one day Viktor hopes to take his family to Hasetsu to meet Yuuri’s. With Katya in school, Alexei’s schooling and archeological digs, and his mother’s job in a high-end tailoring shop, the whole family’s never had a period of time they could all take off for Hasetsu. Yuuri’d said he’d talk to his parents, though, the instant Viktor had an idea as far as timing goes.

“I can,” Yuuri says. “Big closet, bigger than your bathroom, with wardrobes with sliding doors inside, and I can stand in there while I get dressed.”

“Whoa.” Katya scribbles something in the margin of her book and Viktor resists the urge to take her pencil from her hands. He’s never liked marking up his books, instead choosing to make notes and shove them in the appropriate places. But then, Katya truly takes after their mamulya, and is allowed to do with her books what she will.

“So do you have a chef?”

“We have several,” Yuuri answers, “Though some only come to work with us during big events when we’re going to have a lot more people than usual. The guards have their own kitchen staff, too.”

“Do you sneak to the kitchens or do they let you in?”

“I sometimes sneak if I’m not supposed to be up but usually I can just go.”

Katya nods, writing something else down and moving to another marked page. “Ok in here she says it’s weird with the title is your title weird too?”

“The fact that I have one or does it feel weird going by a title?”

Looking at him, Katya shrugs. “Both I guess?”

“Hmm. I can’t say it feels weird. It doesn’t, because I’ve grown up with it. Did she grow up with it or did she find out later?”

Incredibly patient, Yuuri waits while Katya puts her answers into words, and helps her work her way through figuring out what she needs to know. The last time she’d seen him, she’d mostly mixed Russian and French in an attempt to say something Yuuri could understand. A basic knowledge of both languages (and translation from Viktor or one of his family members) meant that they could communicate well enough, but Katya’s English has gotten good, and she revels the chance to use it with Yuuri.

Yuuri is remarkably good with her. The smile he wears is soft, understanding, and the focus in his eyes is unexpected of someone talking to a nine-year-old, but he gives her all the respect she’s due. He gently explains inaccuracies, making sure to reassure her that fiction doesn’t have to conform to reality, and sometimes he expands on what’s written, giving new context. Rapt, Katya listens, writes things down, but soon sets her book to the side in favor of cuddling Vicchan who, unable to crawl onto Yuuri’s lap, has decided Katya’s will do just as well. She pets him idly, asking what questions come to mind.

Smiling, Viktor feels warmth spreading in his chest, happiness settling in his stomach. Yuuri’s incredible, truly, articulating his answers without once acting like Katya should know these things, regardless of how basic the knowledge seems to him.

He does this with Viktor, too, albeit he’s usually the one asking the questions. The times Viktor has trouble putting things to words, whether because of difficulties with the language or, as it is more often, because he just can’t find the words to fit what he’s trying to convey, Yuuri’s never been impatient. He’s always valued Viktor’s honesty, treating it like a gift instead of taking it for granted, and this translates to even the most basic interactions. Viktor doesn’t need a mask around him. Viktor doesn’t _want_ a mask around him, and it’s been the same on Yuuri’s end, and it makes their time together far more enjoyable than stressful. Yuuri listens. Yuuri wants to know what Viktor’s thinking, Yuuri _loves_ Viktor. Or, at least, he’s said the words. Over text. Viktor wonders if it means the same thing, if the love Yuuri has is as deep, as rich, as warm as Viktor’s love for him, a burning desire to be closer, to hold him, to spend the rest of his life…

Viktor abruptly understands the emotional roller coaster he’s been on since he’d first seen Yuuri at the airport in St. Petersburg. He’s fallen in love with his best friend. The warmth of a blush crawls across his face, down his neck and shoulders and chest and he pulls his hair in front of him, playing with it.

 _He’s in love with Yuuri._ He doesn’t regret it, though part of him says he should, and he curls in just a little tighter, an attempt to keep the wonderful feeling in his chest as long as possible.

 

~*~

 

When Viktor wakes his last morning there, the bed next to him is empty. Yuuri’s suit is still hanging on the back of the door and the shower’s not running, so he’s probably gone downstairs. Viktor can smell breakfast cooking, coffee being made, and he smiles as he pulls his robe on.

He hears a shriek as he gets to the bottom of the stairs, then laughter, and when he goes into the kitchen, Yuuri’s a few feet from the stove with his hair in a messy ponytail, leaning close enough to the pan while maintaining what appears to be a safe distance. When he looks up and sees Viktor, he smiles.

“Your moms taught me how to make coffee again,” he says, “and now we’re making steak and potatoes!”

“I can see that.” Viktor yawns as he walks to the coffee maker, grabbing a cup off a shelf and pouring a generous helping in. Some sugar and a bit of cream later, and he’s sipping it gratefully as he watches Yuuri push meat around with the spatula he’s holding. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Nodding, Yuuri smiles, bright in the morning sun spilling in through the windows. “I am. I’ve never cooked befo—” he shrieks again as the meat pops in the pan, jumping back a few feet while he clutches the spatula to his chest.

“Stir it, Yuuri,” Viktor’s mamulya says. “You don’t want anything to stick to the bottom and burn.”

Yuuri nods determinedly, gingerly reaching out to take the pan handle just as there’s another loud pop. “Ow, fuck!” he exclaims, pulling his hand towards him. “This is horrible. This is dangerous! How do people _do_ this all the time?”

 _“Language, Yuuri!”_ Hilaire scolds.

“Yes, mom,” he says absently, before blushing. “I mean… I’m sorry, I don’t mean offense I—”

“It’s fine,” she laughs, ruffling his hair. “You can call me whatever you like so long as that food gets mixed around.”

Yuuri nods. There’s an oven mitt on the counter, and Viktor sets his coffee down, grabs it and Yuuri’s hand (Yuuri has such soft hands, impeccably manicured, and Viktor wonders how it’s taken him this long to notice), before roughly putting it on. “That should help you hold the pan.”

Nodding, Yuuri grabs the handle and starts stirring the meat again. The door opens, and a man’s voice calls out “Your Highness?”

“In the kitchen!” Yuuri shouts as he flips a particularly large chunk of potato.

Wearing pajamas and holding a gun, Yuuri’s guard walks into the kitchen. “Sir, I came to check on you, is everything alright?”

Blinking, Yuuri looks the man up and down, eyes coming to rest on the gun. The guard in turn looks Yuuri over, not-so-subtly staring at the spatula in his hand.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri responds. “Just trying to cook.”

Not quite knowing what to do with himself, what with the Crown Prince standing in his pajamas and slippers in front of the stove with a floral apron tied around his waist, the guard just bows. “Of course, Sir. Can I do anything to assist you?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Yuuri says.

“Would you like one of us to pack your things this afternoon, Sir?”

Pursing his lips, Yuuri scrapes a bit of onion off the center of the pan, stirring everything again. “I can take care of it,” he says after a bit. “I’ll let you know if I require your assistance, thank you. I’ll see you this afternoon as we prepare to head back to Hasetsu.” It’s a dismissal if Viktor’s ever heard one, and the guard merely bows again in response.

“As you wish, Your Highness,” he says. “We’ll be ready when you are.”

Yuuri nods absently, stirring the food again. “Thank you,” he says, “and if you’d be so kind as to put the gun away, I’d appreciate it. There’s a child in the house.”

“Of course, Sir, my apologies. We’ll keep weapons holstered when we return.” He turns on his heal when Yuuri nods and gives a dismissive wave. “I apologize, ma’am,” he says to Viktor’s mamulya, before heading out.

Alexandra walks over to check the food. “Vitka,” she says.

“Yes, Mamulya?” He takes a sip of his coffee.

“Set the table when you’re done with that, the food is almost finished.”

Hilaire walks in, kissing her wife. “I told Lyosha to do it, my love,” she says with a gentle smile. “Vitka can serve everything up.”

She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and then gives one to Yuuri, smiling as his cheeks go rosy.  Reaching around him, she turns of the fire. “Well done, Yuuri,” she says. Yuuri beams, wiping his hands on the apron he's wearing.

“Thank you,” he says. “Your instruction was truly exemplary.”

Smiling, Hilaire laughs. “Go wash up, we’ll get the food served.”

Yuuri nods, and when he looks at Viktor his cheeks are red. Heat crawls across Viktor’s ears, his cheeks, down his neck. Clearing his throat, he passes by Yuuri, giving him a pat on the back. “Looks delicious,” he says.

“Thanks.” Yuuri hangs the apron on the hook next to the door, heading to the bathroom.

 

~*~

 

Freshly showered, contacts in and hair gelled, Yuuri finishes buttoning his waistcoat as he exits the bathroom.

“You wear a lot of suits,” he hears Katya say from nearby.

“I do.”

“Why?”

Yuuri shrugs. He’s always worn suits abroad, does it often at home. That’s just how things are. “They’re comfortable.”

“You’re weird,” she says, giggling when Yuuri scrunches his nose at her.

“I’ve hardly worn suits at all this week,” Yuuri retorts, “I spent most of my time in pajamas.”

“Because you’re _weird,”_ she says again. “You should wear jeans and a t-shirt when you fly, they’re more comfy.”

“I change on the plane,” Yuuri replies. Really, for a flight that’s over a couple of hours he typically ends up changing, flying in comfort unless there’s someone else on the plane or pictures being taken for some reason.

“You gonna finish packing?”

Yuuri nods, with every intention of… trying his best. If he’s honest he has no idea how to get his things into the suitcases, but worse come to worst, he'll ask Viktor to help. “Yup. Gonna pack everything up and carry it out to the car.”

“And then we’ll go to the airport with you!”

“You will!”

She flings her arms around him. “I’m gonna miss you,” she says.

He lowers himself to her level, hugging her in return. “I’ll miss you too. We can write letters, and if you have more questions about your books you can ask me. I might even be able to get my sister to answer you. She’s a princess, you know.”

Katya backs away, looking excited. “Okay! And maybe Vitya will let us talk sometimes on the video!!”

Nodding, he ruffles her hair. “I gotta pack, Pupsik, okay? Go see if your moms need help for whatever they’re making, yeah?”

She nods, skipping down the hall as Yuuri sighs and heads to the bedroom.

 

Half an hour later, Yuuri frowns, staring at his luggage. “It's not fitting,” he groans.

Rolling his last pair of socks, Viktor glances over. Yuuri’s things are piled haphazardly in his suitcases, and Yuuri resists the urge to block Viktor’s view with his body. “How are they usually arranged when you unpack?” Viktor asks.

“I don’t.” Crossing his arms, Yuuri sits back on his heels. “Usually when I get to where I'm staying, my things are unpacked while I do whatever I'm supposed to be doing, if not before I arrive.”

“I assume you don’t pack them yourself either?”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. He debates mentioning that he didn't know what his luggage _looked_ like until he was almost eleven and got to choose his own, but decides against it. “Obviously not.” Blushing, he looks back at his things.

Clothing had been packed separately, and he sorts everything properly. Somehow he gets his “extra things” suitcase to close, but is left confused by the other. Standing allows him to observe as Viktor puts his final things in his own bag. Kneeling in front of his own again, he sorts his clothes first into level of formality, then by color, then by article of clothing, and Viktor kneels next to him and his heart skips as he feels soft, cold hands on his own.

“Do you want me to help?” Soft, Viktor’s voice is gentle near his ear, breath ghosting near Yuuri’s neck and he barely suppresses a shiver.

“I don’t know how to fold clothing,” Yuuri admits. When he turns, Viktor’s so close, right there and he swallows as he forces his eyes to hold Viktor’s.

Blinking, Viktor pulls away. “Would you like me to teach you?”

Yuuri nods. “If you would be so kind,” he says, and Viktor smiles and starts putting some  order to the chaos.

“Did you really call my maman ‘mom?’” Viktor asks, amused, as they’re finishing up.

Blushing, Yuuri finishes rolling his socks. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean anything by it.”

“It's alright,” Viktor says. “I accidentally did the same thing with yours a few weeks ago.”

“It wasn't in _front_ of anybody, was it?” Yuuri shoves his last pair of socks into the only gap he can find large enough to fit them.

“Just your dad.” Yuuri’s eyes widen. “Don’t worry,” Viktor chuckles, “they just laughed and told me to keep it to when we’re in private.”

Yuuri giggles. “Of course,” he says. “I wonder how Mari would react if you called her nee-chan.”

Viktor shrugs and yells for Alexei to come help them carry the luggage out.

 

The trip to the airport is fun, Yuuri laughing and joking with Katya for most of the drive, and when they pull up next to the plane, they’re immediately surrounded by people checking on Yuuri, asking what he’ll be wanting to drink so they can get it started as their luggage is whisked away. He sighs happily, and Viktor sidles up next to him with a grin. “Good to be back?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says absently. “I mean,” he stammers, “it’s not that I disliked your family’s house, the food and lodgings were more than incredible and I thoroughly enjo—”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says quietly. “It’s ok to be more comfortable with familiarity.”

Biting his lip, Yuuri nods as he watches his luggage being loaded into the plane. “I did, though,” he says softly. “I enjoyed staying with your family. It was refreshing. It was fun. Thank you.”

He repeats his thanks when Viktor’s mothers come to hug him, kissing him on both cheeks simultaneously. Laughing, Yuuri tells them how much he enjoyed spending time with them, thanks them for the hamantaschen they’d given him to take to his family, and his eyes widen when they pull out a cooler.

“Here,” Alexandra says. “Pirozhki. I made enough for you, Vitka, and your staff to eat on the way home.”

Yuuri opens the cooler and pulls one out eagerly, opening and taking a bite. His eyes widen as he smiles, and he swallows quickly. “Vkusno!” he exclaims. “These are amazing, thank you!!” Wrapping it in foil again, he puts it back in the cooler so it can be taken on the plan.

 

There’s another series of hugs and well-wishes, Katya spending more time saying goodbye to the dogs than anyone else, and they wave as they board the plane back to their everyday lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly proud of myself for keeping this going. Heck yeah!! Here's day four, and a taste of freedom for Yuuri.


	5. You Make Me Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Intrigue and Scandal
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Yuuri: 21, Viktor: 25

“May I introduce you to one of my competitors?” Viktor’s voice is quiet in Yuuri’s ear, his hand warm on his back as he leads him across the room.

“Of course,” Yuuri responds, sipping his champagne.

Viktor steers them towards a man in a suit, right around Yuuri’s age. Cheerful, with tan skin that glows in the lighting of the banquet, he looks friendly enough that Yuuri isn't quite so nervous about meeting him as he thought he’d be. New people are never particularly  _ easy,  _ which is unfortunate since Yuuri’s position requires he meet a  _ lot  _ of them, but the fact that Viktor is not only by his side but introducing him in the first place is helping put him at ease. He adjusts his jacket and prays his circlet is on straight as they approach. “Vitya,” the stranger says, smiling. 

“He's ‘Vitya’ status?” Yuuri says under his breath. 

Viktor snorts. “He trained under Yakov for a year, we were rinkmates,” he whispers.

“Oh my god, you were rinkmates,” Yuuri mutters with a laugh. 

Viktor sighs, exasperated, and Yuuri just  _ knows _ he rolled his eyes. “Anyway, we keep in touch. Phichit,” he says loudly, “I'd like to introduce a good friend. This is His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Yuuri.”

“Of Akitsushima,” Yuuri adds. 

“Of Akitsushima,” Viktor echoes, brushing his newly-cut bangs behind his ear.

“Prince Yuuri is fine, though,” Yuuri says as he holds out his hand. 

“Phichit Chulanont,” the boy says, grasping Yuuri’s hand firmly and giving a strong shake. 

Yuuri smiles. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Chulanont.”

“And yours, Your Highness.” Looking at Viktor, Phichit glances back at Yuuri before frowning. “Vitya,” he says, “you brought a  _ prince _ to a  _ figure skating gala?!” _

“He was in the country!” Viktor replies cheerfully. 

“He’s a  _ prince!” _

“He’s right  _ here,” _ Yuuri says. “I’m in Barcelona for a meeting and lunch with the Prime Minister, and tomorrow I head to Madrid for dinner with the King. Mr. Nikiforov was kind enough to extend the invitation upon finding out I was available this evening, and I was delighted to accept.”

“He calls you Mr. Nikiforov?” Phichit raises one eyebrow, looking at Viktor.

“Only when we’re not in private,” Viktor responds with a smile.

“I can switch to ‘Viktor’ if it would make you more comfortable.” Out of Phichit’s line of vision, Viktor nods with a slight grimace. Yuuri knows the over-formality of the palace can get uncomfortable, so whenever he can he switches to casual forms of address. “Anyway,” he says smoothly, “Viktor’s been trying to get me to come to one of these for years but our schedules have never quite managed to line up.”

“And this time, they did!” Viktor chimes in. He’s more at ease here than he is the other parties they’ve attended together, though you wouldn’t know it unless you know  _ him. _ It  _ is _ a figure skating gala, though, and for once, Yuuri is being shown Viktor’s world.

“Viktor!” An accented voice comes from just next to Yuuri. He turns, quickly stepping away from a tall man with curly blonde hair and entrancing green eyes. “Who is your friend?”

Wearing a circlet, and knowing how quickly word can spread, Yuuri doubts this man doesn't actually know, but he lets Viktor introduce him anyway. This time, Viktor gets his full title without correction and Yuuri smiles as he holds out his hand.

“This is Christophe Giacometti, from Switzerland.”

“Chris is fine, Your Highness. It's a pleasure.”

Yuuri shakes his hand, and then he feels fingers wrap around his own as it's lifted towards Christophe’s mouth. This is honestly one of the worst things about being royalty, when people assume hand-kissing is a thing  _ anyone _ wants to have done to them and he can't help it when his hand twitches back towards himself and it stops inches from Chris’s lips. 

Straightening back up, Chris drops Yuuri’s hand without further ado. “Apologies,” he says. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, Your Highness.”

“No worries,” Yuuri replies, “it happens.” He rubs his hand, smiling. “I appreciate you… not doing it, though.”

Chris nods. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Nodding Yuuri finishes his champagne, looking around for a waiter to take it. Instead, Viktor does, disappearing into the crowd. Yuuri shrugs, turning back. “I am,” he says. “It’s cozier than I expected.” He doesn’t miss Phichit and Chris looking around the room with raised eyebrows, but they make no comment. 

“I watched the competition,” Yuuri says in an attempt to keep conversation going. “You both were very good.”

“Were you there?” Phichit asks.

“Regrettably, I wasn’t. I watched a livestream. It’s how I usually watch Viktor’s competitions, since I’m often unable to attend in person, due to either conflicting plans or security concerns.”

“I’m curious,” Chris says, “what do you actually  _ do?” _

Blinking, Yuuri takes a moment. “I work under my father. Much of it is going to meetings, showing up at events as a representative of the Crown and my nation, but I’m starting to work more on legislature, as well. As monarch, my father holds the majority of the legislative power and is involved in most of the decisions and lawmaking at a national level. I’m effectively second-in-command, and as heir apparent it’s essentially training for my ascension to the throne.” He’s had to describe his duties often enough that it comes out sounding rehearsed and he barely contains a grimace. 

“Highness,” Viktor says from next to him, holding out another glass of champagne. Yuuri takes it, can feel his face growing warm as he smiles.

“Thank you, Viktor.”

“Do you have hobbies?” Phichit asks.

“Some. Gaming. I spend time on the internet. I play the piano and sometimes pretend I know how to ice skate,” he laughs, “but that’s mostly when Viktor’s there to help me up after I fall.”

“You don’t fall  _ that _ often,” Viktor says, “you’ve gotten a lot better! You can do a jump!”

“Viktor it’s a single axel and I don’t even know how I manage to do it, it’s not impressive. I can’t do what you do on the ice.” He feels himself blushing and he takes a sip of his champagne in the hopes of providing an excuse.

“You can do plenty,” Viktor says, with earnest conviction and a sparkle in his eye.

“Anyway,” Yuuri says, clearing his throat, “those are the hobbies I mostly take part in. Yourselves?”

“Chess,” Chris says, “Puzzle games. Figure skating.” He laughs it off like it’s a joke, like he expects Yuuri to see it as frivolous, almost.

“I can see how much work you put into your skating,” Yuuri replies, “it feels almost disingenuous to pass it off as a mere hobby.” He clearly takes Chris and Phichit by surprise, but Viktor just smiles knowingly. A byproduct of being the best friend of Viktor Nikiforov is a healthy respect for the sport and the people who do it, and Yuuri’s not one to let people think less of their accomplishments.

“Very true, Your Highness,” Chris responds with a gracious, yet shallow bow. This could be a flair for the dramatic, or it could be Chris thinking that’s how you’re supposed to interact with royalty, but either way, Yuuri shifts slightly uncomfortably.

“What about yourself, Mr. Chulanont?”

Phichit grins. “I am a child of the internet, Your Highness. Social media, tumblr. Some gaming. I have hamsters, too. They’re not really a hobby but I love them.”

Yuuri laughs. “One of my best friends online loves hamsters,” he says. “I’ve gotten more pictures of them than anything else at this point. Fascinating animals.”

“Do you have a pet, Your Highness?” Phichit asks.

Yuuri nods. “I do!! A toy poodle, he—”

“Viktor!” JJ Leroy, known to Yuuri mostly through the competition video he’s seen, throws his arm around Viktor’s shoulder, and Yuuri barely holds in a grimace. Honestly, he’s glad he knows no one here. Meeting Viktor’s fellow skaters is fun, and he’s enjoying talking to Phichit and Chris, but the whole lot seem a bit more touchy-feely than Yuuri’s accustomed to, and a personal bubble is a very nice thing to have. “Who’s your friend?” JJ continues, “is he ready to meet the King?”

“I’ll be having dinner with him tomorrow,” Yuuri mutters. He hears Phichit make a strangled noise, stifling it quickly. Viktor merely does his best to smile. It’s fake; it’s for the press, for the public and a thrill goes through Yuuri knowing that he’s close enough to Viktor to be able to tell.

“What?” Looking at Yuuri, JJ seems somewhat confused.

Yuuri just smiles. “I’m Yuuri, Crown Prince of Akitsushima, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Like an actual prince?”

“Like next in line for the throne, yes,” Yuuri says, holding out his hand. “You are?”

He knows full well who JJ is. He’s seen enough of Viktor’s competitions, sat with him over Skype enough times while he went through other peoples’ programs calculating scores and examining technique that he knows the name JJ Leroy.

He may also be a little bit petty, and he may also know Viktor hates being touched like that.

“Jean-Jacques Leroy, Canada.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Leroy.”

 

Other skaters come to greet them, Mila walking over with a girl about her age. “This is Sara Crispino,” she says, “from Italy.” Used to being introduced first when it comes to people of lower rank, he finds himself just the slightest bit taken aback.

“It’s a pleasure,” he says awkwardly. “I’m Yuuri, Crown Prince of Akitsushima.” Sara actually curtsies, with perfect form and Yuuri gives the customary shallow bow in response. Mila drags her away in short order, telling stories about Yuuri’s last time visiting the rink in St. Petersburg most likely, and Yuuri soon finds himself being approached by an angry-looking man a few years younger than he is.

“Michele Crispino,” Viktor whispers in his ear.

“Who do you think you are,” Michele asks, “trying to chat up my sister?”

“I’m sorry?” Yuuri asks, indignant.

“Michele!” Viktor says, “I’d like to introduce you to my friend Yuuri, Crown Prince of Akitsushima. Your Royal Highness, this is Michele Crispino, Italy’s pride and joy.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Yuuri says as he holds out his hand, wondering absently if he sounds like a robot yet.

Michele takes it, gives a shake that’s just a bit firmer and more violent than necessary, and steps forward.

“You stay away from my sister,” he says again, finger coming dangerously close to Yuuri’s sternum. In the background, his bodyguards move forward, stopping as he raises a hand. He won’t be able to stop them if he’s actually pushed, but for now they back off.

“I have no interest in your sister,” Yuuri says coolly. Viktor stifles a snort. If there’s anyone in this world who knows just how little interest Yuuri has in this man’s sister, or any woman, it’s Viktor.

“You say that  _ now,” _ he continues, “but have you had a conversation with her?”

Taking a step back, Yuuri brushes his arm aside. “I don’t need to,” he says, as icily as he can.

The Italian’s face turns a charming shade of purple before Chris steps in between them. “Michele,” he says, “trust me when I say  _ His Royal Highness _ has no interest in Sara. He also has  _ bodyguards.” _

Wisely, he seems to calm down as he takes in the suited people around the room. Despite backing away, the commotion has drawn all attention to him and, as a result, Yuuri. People start to crowd around, and Viktor seats himself firmy at Yuuri’s side. Somehow, Phichit puts himself on the other side and Chris, near Viktor, helps widen the bubble. Yuuri shakes hands, greets people, most of whom are curious about his presence and his friendship with Viktor. This, of course, is to be expected. Everyone wants to meet royalty, and the world’s best figure skaters are not immune.

Though it takes a while, the excitement eventually dies down as people take their leave, and Yuuri sighs heavily. 

“Hey,” a soft voice says next to him, “you alright?”

Smiling, Yuuri nods. “Of course. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed meeting and talking to everyone tonight.”

Phichit raises a skeptical eyebrow, waving Viktor and Chris over from the other side of the room.

“What are you guys doing tomorrow?” he asks.

“My flight’s in the afternoon,” Viktor says.

“My train as well,” Chris adds. “But before that sightseeing, if anything.”

“I have a train to Madrid in the morning.” Yuuri sips his champagne, frowning when he discovers it empty. As slowly as he’s been taking it, he’s not feeling much of the alcohol and while he doesn’t particularly want to get drunk in public, he wouldn’t mind being less sober.

“Well, my flight to Thailand’s at seven so I have to leave by five, but we all know I’m annoyingly good at waking up in the morning, so my proposal: we do something,” Phichit suggests. “Grab some snacks, go on the roof or something.”

“Doesn’t the hotel have a store?” Yuuri asks. “One of the convenient ones.”

“Conveni-ence,” Viktor says, “and I think it does. Are you allowed snacks?”

“Viktor, I’m twenty-one,” Yuuri retorts. “I can buy snacks if I want to.”

Yuuri makes an excuse to the two bodyguards remaining in the venue, and they step into the hall. They’re almost to the elevators when they hear quick footsteps behind them. “Your Highness!” a woman calls. Yuuri turns around.

“What is it, Hana-san?”

She stops, bowing, and then glances at the elevators. “Sir, if I may ask where you’re going?”

“The store,” Yuuri says. “The convenience store in the hotel.”

“We’d feel far more comfortable if one of us were to accompany you.”

“Can you keep it discreet, then?” Yuuri asks. She nods, gesturing at the elevator.

“Once we’re downstairs, sir, you’ll never notice me.”

The ride down is somewhat uncomfortable, the elevator a bit packed between the four men and Yuuri’s bodyguard, but sure enough, she almost vanishes when they get out. They walk to the hotel lobby, looking around at the now-darkened restaurants around the perimeter. Unfortunately, what passes as a gift-shop-slash-convenience-store is also dark, and Yuuri sighs mournfully.

“What if there’s another one nearby?” Phichit asks, whipping out his phone.

“I need to make sure it’s ok with my bodyguard,” Yuuri says, waving her over. “But I wouldn’t be adverse to an adventure,” he smiles.

 

~*~

 

Viktor sits in the hotel lobby waiting for Yuuri to come back from wherever he vanished to. He, Phichit, and Chris had taken the liberty of running to their rooms and hurriedly changing their clothes, and are now assembled on the lobby couches, talking animatedly about the competition and the Olympics coming up in a few years. There’s the sound of elevator doors, and Yuuri walks around the corner in jeans, converse, and a hoodie. He wears no circlet, his hair’s pulled back casually in a half-updo rather than the knot it had been in during the banquet, and he’s got his glasses on instead of contacts.

Standing, Viktor smiles. “You look great,” he says. “Incognito?”

Yuuri nods. “For the most part,” he says. “Hana-san will be following us, but I’m free to go out for a bit right now.” He grins. “You’ll notice my hoodie’s not ironed.”

“Yes, but is your t-shirt?” Viktor asks, smiling. It’s a bit of an inside joke now, and Yuuri chuckles.

“Not even a little. Shall we go to the convenient store?” Eyes sparkling, Yuuri looks directly at Viktor when he says it. So he’s been doing this on purpose, for god knows how long. Rolling his eyes, Viktor reaches up to ruffle his hair before stopping.

“How are we supposed to treat you?” he asks. The default in public is title and some formality, but Yuuri’d mentioned trying to go incognito, and it’s always best to check and make sure.

Pursing his lips, Yuuri taps the bottom one with an index finger while he thinks. “Title, but aside from that casually is fine.” If it were just Viktor, all pretense would be abandoned, but as Phichit and Chris are there, both unknown entities to Yuuri, it’s not surprising that he’s insisting on the barest propriety.

“He does the same thing you do,” Phichit says to Viktor.

“I’m sorry?” Yuuri looks over, arms crossed.

“Vitya taps his lip with his index finger when he’s thinking,” Phichit responds, looking at him, “and I just noticed you do it too, Your Highness.”

Looking down at his finger, Yuuri blushes bright red and Viktor feels his own neck go warm. They’ve picked up phrases from each other, but the strict training Yuuri’s had as far as body language and etiquette go has meant that there’s not much he does, physically, that hasn’t been part of that training. At least not in public. To know that somehow they’re close enough that Yuuri’s picked up on a few of his mannerisms warms something in his heart and Viktor smiles, wide and bright.

“Shall we?” he asks.

Yuuri nods. “Please.”

The night is cold as they walk, Hana staying towards the rear of the group, and Viktor’s pleased when Yuuri walks close to him. Presumably it’s for warmth, but there’s a charming dusting of pink on Yuuri’s cheeks and he’s biting his lower lip as he takes in their surroundings. “Vitya,” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“How far is the store?”

“Not far,” he answers, “Phichit said it’d only be a few blocks.”

Chris turns to face them. “Vitya,” he says, smiling, “this is like when we snuck off to get pizza in the States.”

Viktor laughs. “I'm still upset about the milkshake, you know.”

“What happened with the milkshake?” Yuuri asks curiously. 

“Chris was telling a story, quite enthusiastically—”

“I'd taken gold at juniors in my last year, I was excited!”

“Regardless,” Viktor says, “He was flailing his arms as he talked and hit it straight at my chest and it went everywhere. I ended up with my milkshake down my front, in my shirt, and all over my hair. On my shoe. It was terrible.”

Yuuri furrows his brow just a bit before asking, “what kind of milkshake?”

“Strawberry,” Viktor says. “Why does it matter?”

Viktor knows something is coming, Yuuri being this hard to read is strangely telling if you know him well enough. “I wanted to know if you deserved it.” 

“And?”

“You did,” Yuuri says with a smile. “Anyway, continue?”

Phichit cackles, Chris does his best to stifle his own laughter and Viktor looks back at Hana. “You remember His Royal Highness directed us to be casual?”

Hana nods, giving a thumbs up, and Viktor grabs Yuuri around the shoulders, ruffling his hair. “Just because you don’t like strawberry—”

“It’s not that I don’t like it, Vitya,” Yuuri says, pushing him off, “it’s that strawberry milkshakes are a lie and you know it.”

“Your opinion is patently incorrect and you live a life of delusion.” Viktor presses the button as they stop at a crosswalk.

Yuuri makes a humming noise. “I see your point and counter: I’ve actually reached a higher plane of truth and you, in your misery, are still unenlightened.”

Viktor laughs. “If enlightenment means sacrificing delights of worldly enjoyments,” he jokes, leaning down a few inches to put himself at Yuuri’s eye level, “I would rather dwell in the dark.”

Smiling, Yuuri juts his chin out. “Noble of you,” he says, “though unfortunate.” Viktor could swear Yuuri’s eyes flicked down to his lips. Yuuri’s chewing the inside of his own, the exertion of laughter and exercise giving his cheeks an even rosier hue. Viktor pulls his eyes back up to Yuuri’s, mouth gaping as he tries to come up with a response. 

“Highness,” Hana says, causing Yuuri to look away, “it’s time to cross.”

Confidently, Yuuri steps into the street alongside Phichit. “How far is it?” he asks.

“Another block or two,” Phichit answers.

“Do convenience stores have ice cream?”

“Usually,” Phichit says.

Chris sidles up to Viktor. “How long?” he asks in quiet French.

“How long what?” Viktor slows, letting Yuuri and Phichit pull on ahead a bit.

“Has it been since you fell in love with a prince?”

Viktor blushes. “Long enough. Don’t say anything?”

He’s grateful when Chris nods. Yuuri and Phichit are stopped halfway down the block, and Viktor and Chris hurry to catch up. “Vitya,” Yuuri says when they draw near, “I want ice cream.”

“Good for you,” Viktor says. 

Yuuri points at the shop they’ve stopped in front of. Instead of the convenience store, it’s an ice cream parlor brightly-lit with colorful trays of a variety of flavors behind a glass display cover. The signs says it’s still open for another hour and Viktor grins, pulling open the door. 

“After you, vashe Vysochestvo,” he says. Yuuri sticks his tongue out and walks into the parlor, taking it in. Phichit and Chris move immediately towards the display, looking over the various options. Viktor moves close as well. They have several fruitier options, and he examines them with interest. Phichit turns away first, walking over to Yuuri.

“You look confused,” he says softly, trying not to draw too much attention.

“I… readily admit that I don’t often go to places like this.” Yuuri whispers.

“That’s cool,” Phichit says. Viktor’s grateful he’s not being rude about it, and when he turns to look back Yuuri smiles and gives him a nod. “So what you’re going to do is figure out how many scoops you want, what kind of ice cream, and whether you want a cone or a paper cup.”

Yuuri nods, moving towards the display. Chris and Phichit place their orders, Yuuri watching intently, and when the person behind the counter asks for theirs, Yuuri gestures for Viktor to go first. He likely wants to watch again, as he’s wont to do when confronted by a new situation, and Viktor steps forward. He orders one scoop each of peach and strawberry in a waffle cone, pleased to see how much fresh fruit is mixed in. He’s handed his cone, and once again it’s Yuuri’s turn.

Stepping forward, Yuuri takes a deep breath and smiles. “I’d like a… a scoop of dark chocolate and a scoop of coffee, in a cup please.”

Nodding, the person gets to work, sticking a plastic spoon into the paper cup. Yuuri takes it gingerly.

“Is that it?” they ask, moving towards the cash register.

“And whatever my… sister wants,” Yuuri says, smiling at Hana. “I’ll be paying for everything.”

Surprised, Hana comes towards the counter. She gives Yuuri a small smile and a nod of thanks before placing her order. When it’s done, Yuuri moves towards the cash register, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. He has a credit card out before the person even gives him the total, and they take it smoothly when he holds it out.

They end up sitting in a nearby park, Hana keeping as close as she can while still giving them some semblance of privacy.

“Your Highness,” Phichit says, “do you sneak out often like this?”

“I have a few times in the past,” Yuuri replies, “mostly with Viktor.”

“Have you done it without a bodyguard?” Chris asks.

Yuuri glances at Hana, who’s pointedly looking away. He smiles. “Yes.”

“What happened?” Leaning forward, Phichit takes a bite out of his ice cream cone.

“I’ll let Vitya tell you,” he says, with a pointed look at Hana. She smiles, waves, and goes back to her ice cream. Frowning, he takes a bite of his own. “This spoon isn’t very sturdy,” he remarks. “It feels like it’s going to break.”

“It’s plastic,” Viktor says, “that’s what it’s gonna feel like. Just don’t dig in and you’ll be fine.”

They eat in silence for a bit, Yuuri and Viktor occasionally handing off their ice cream to each other until they’ve reached the bottom of the peach, at which point Yuuri makes a face and moves away. Viktor takes a large bite of the strawberry out of spite, keeping eye contact until he’s swallowed. Yuuri makes an exaggerated, disgusted face before taking a reasonably-sized bite out of his own. It’s endearing. It’s adorable, and it’s comfortably familiar. That warmth in Viktor’s chest spreads just a bit, and it’s almost a conscious effort not to draw his hands to his chest, to let himself bask in the idea of a relationship which, in reality, is admittedly unlikely.

“Is it often ice cream is served in paper cups?” Yuuri asks, looking at everyone. There’s an awkward moment of silence, Phichit and Chris looking at each other like they’re trying to figure out how to answer without implying that  Yuuri should know this already.

“It is,” Viktor says. “It’s mostly served in dishes if you’re at a restaurant, but places like this will offer either a paper cup or a cone, so people can take it with them.”

“Huh,” he grunts as he scrapes the bottom of the cup. When he’s done he stares at it, then looks up at Viktor.

“There’s a trash can about two meters that way,” Viktor says, pointing. In fancier situations, such as the party earlier, Viktor usually doesn’t mind taking a more active role in helping Yuuri navigate things, but Viktor’s tired and Yuuri’s young and healthy and can walk a couple of meters to throw his own trash away. 

Yuuri walks over, tosses the cup, and comes back, standing and staring at nearby playground equipment absently. Loud music pierces through the night, and Chris pulls his phone out. Answering immediately, he listens to whatever it is the person on the other end says, nodding and making a noise of agreement before hanging up. Sighing, he stands.

“That was my coach,” he says, “telling me to get back to the hotel. I’ve got to go, but it was a pleasure meeting you, Your Highness.”

Turning, Yuuri smiles and holds out his hand, shaking Chris’s firmly. “A pleasure to meet you as well. Once again, both of your programs were exquisite,” he says. “Best of luck at future competitions.”

“Thank you,” Chris says. He gives both Viktor and Phichit a hug, and shakes Hana’s hand before heading off in the direction of the hotel.

“Chris,” Viktor calls. When Chris turns around, Viktor offers, “do you want us to walk you back?”

“I’ll be fine, cherie,” he says, waving them off. “Enjoy your night on the town!”

Viktor nods, and Chris whistles as he walks away.

 

~*~

 

When two a.m. rolls around, Yuuri’s perch on the play equipment is starting to get very,  _ very _ cold. He finds himself scooting closer to Viktor, blushing when their legs touch. Viktor doesn’t move away, though, and Yuuri shoves his hands into the giant pocket on the front of his hoodie.

“Anyways,” Phichit continues, “fuck Solas, fuck his racism, and Bioware needs to give us better dialogue options.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Yuuri agrees, yawning. He’s officially too tired to try to put on much pretense, and all he really wants to do at the moment is rest his head on Viktor’s shoulder and doze off.

“Fix the glitches, too.”

“Nah,” Yuuri says, yawning again. “They’re their own sort of charm. Fix the dialogue. Keep the glitches.”

“Your Highness,” Hana says, “I, and your other bodyguards, feel it would be best to head back to the hotel. We can have snacks and tea brought to the suite if you’d like to continue hanging out, but as it’s getting late and there’s only one of me…”

“I understand, Hana-san. Thank you.”

Yuuri stands, reluctantly, stretching in an effort to work the cold and the stiffness out of his legs and lower back. Looking over, he sees a fireman’s pole going down to the ground, smiling. He’s on it, gracefully spinning as he slides towards the ground and he debates doing a few moves from the classes he’s been taking for a few years now, before blushing. Viktor doesn’t know he can pole dance, and he’s not sure his heart is  _ ready _ for Viktor to know.

Viktor takes the slide, and Phichit just climbs over the side, jumping to the ground. The grass is damp under Yuuri’s feet, and there’s a sound similar to a faucet engaging before he finds himself getting drenched. Cold water gets in his shoes, on his face and neck as the sprinklers engage, and he finds Viktor grabbing his hand.

“Yuuri, come on!” He shouts as everyone takes off towards the street. Yuuri pulls his hand away, running across the lawn but he finds it hard to find purchase in the shoes he’s wearing. Still, converse are better than the slick leather he usually wears, smooth soles providing little traction on wet surfaces. Water gets on his glasses, in his mouth, on the back of his neck somehow. Just before he reaches the sidewalk his feet fly out from under him, and he slides the rest of the way before hitting part of a bench at the edge of the concrete.

Laughing, he rolls onto his back as Viktor, Phichit and Hana run over. All of them are dripping wet as they lean over him. “Sir?” Hana asks, “are you alright?”

Yuuri nods, holding his hands up. “I’m fine,” he says as he’s pulled to his feet. Brushing off his pants, his hands come away dark with mud and grass stains, and he winces. “This is going to be fun to explain,” he says, twisting around to look at his butt.

“It’s not like they’re going to get  _ mad _ at you,” Viktor says.

Raising an eyebrow, Yuuri huffs. “You’d be surprised.” The Palace is weird about what they get mad at him for. Viktor’s right, they’re unlikely to be upset about the clothing, and Yuuri’s more than old enough to make his own decisions about running across wet grass, but at the same time, it was in public. It was somewhere he could be seen, could be filmed, and that wouldn’t be a good look for Akitsushima’s next King. He feels a reassuring arm around his shoulders, Viktor pulling him close.

“You’ll be fine, Yuuri,” he says, gentle, and Yuuri lets himself sink into his hug. Absently, he wonders if asking Viktor to stay with him tonight would be taking advantage of him. It’s not anything out of the ordinary for their friendship, but at the same time… There’s no indication of how Viktor would feel if he knew Yuuri was in love with him. There’s no indication Viktor would be okay if he knew, and Yuuri lets out a shuddering sigh. If Viktor offers to stay, he’ll let him, but if not, he won’t ask.

He can’t ask more of Viktor than what Viktor wants to give. 

Nodding, he gives Viktor a half-armed hug and pulls away. “We may as well head out,” he says. Wet and mud-laden, his jeans stick to his legs as they walk.

“Your Highness,” Phichit says, “I—”

“Yuuri is fine, right now,” he interrupts. “I mean, just. Until we get to the hotel and are in front of people. Yuuri is fine.”

Grinning, Phichit nods. “What about your bodyguard?” he asks.

“Honestly,” Hana says from behind them, “I’ve been working with His Royal Highness since he was six years old, at this point I wouldn’t be comfortable calling him by name.”

Resisting the urge to sigh, Yuuri just leans a little harder on Viktor. On the one hand, it’d be nice if people weren’t so uncomfortable around him, but on the other, he’s not  _ used to _ being called by name. He’s not even sure how he’ll feel if Phichit does it, but they’ve spent hours chatting by now and he’s seen Yuuri make a fool of himself and at this point, the fact that he’s still being friendly is surprisingly nice. Many people would be looking down their noses at the immature Prince, laughing and running around like a child.

“So, Yuuri,” Phichit says, and it’s a weird combination of unnerving and exciting, “do you have social media?”

“Ahh, I have an Instagram,” he replies. “Two. One official, one personal. And a tumblr.” There’s no reason to give his blog url to a random person he just met, and many reasons  _ not _ to, but he likes Phichit. Phichit feels familiar, despite them not knowing each other for long, and Yuuri really wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. On top of that, Viktor knows Phichit, and is friendly enough with him to be reassuring. Viktor’s a good judge of character, and he’d give some indication if Phichit wasn’t to be trusted.

“Your Highness,” Hana says, as they cross the street to the hotel, “are you sure it’s wise to give out your personal accounts?”

“I trust Viktor,” Yuuri says, “and I know the dangers. I appreciate your concern.”

They walk into the lobby, earning no shortage of stares from the few members of the staff on night shift. Yuuri goes to the desk, smiling. “May I have a pen and some paper, please?” he asks nicely. The woman at the desk looks up, irritated, before she recognizes him and a smile spreads across her face.

“Of course, Your Highness.” She walks towards the back, and comes over with a pad of hotel stationary and an engraved metal pen.

“I appreciate it,” Yuuri says with little warmth in his smile. After walking back to the others, Yuuri writes down his url and hands it to Phichit, smiling. His face falls as Phichit’s eyes widen, mouth dropping slightly as he pulls his phone out. “Is something the matter?” Yuuri asks.

“No,” Phichit says, typing something into his phone. Presumably following Yuuri, and Yuuri grins when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Absently clicking the newest notification, Yuuri finds himself surprised to open a message from one of his closest internet friends rather than a new follower notification.

**@hamstersonice: so apparently i already follow you, your highness**

 

Yuuri looks up, mouth agape. “Holy shit,” he says. “Holy fucking  _ shit.”  _

“Right?” Phichit grins at him. “Who’d have thought?!”

He looks at Viktor. “I guess it turns out Phichit and I have been… online friends for a few years now.”

“Really?!” Viktor asks, grin wide.

“He’s the one that sent me that Mr. Krabs meme you hate,” Yuuri responds.

Viktor looks back over at Phichit, an expression of shock on his face.  _ “You _ are responsible for that?!” He’s got the same look of revulsion he usually wears when confronted with the frankly awful memes Yuuri is sent on a regular basis, and as funny as it is to see over Skype, it’s even funnier in person. Yuuri stifles a snort.

Instead of answering Phichit merely looks back at Yuuri. “You know, I think we should get a selfie, since we’ve been talking about meeting up for a while now.”

After taking off his hoodie and brushing his hair back, Yuuri grins, moving closer to Phichit. Viktor stands behind them, and just before Phichit goes to take the picture he speaks.

“Do the Akitsushiman people know their Crown Prince is a Meme-Loving Fuck?” he asks.

The shutter goes off just as Yuuri’s face whips around to stare at Phichit in shock and disbelief. Phichit cracks up, pulling the phone towards him as Yuuri looks on.

“Wh-what?” Stunned into silence, Yuuri looks aghast as Phichit shows the picture to Viktor, who immediately asks for a copy. Phichit grins, eyes widening when he looks over.

“Wait,” he says, looking at Yuuri. “Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

“Yes.” Yuuri’s been waiting for the ice cream to hit since he’d first ordered it, though he’s sure it won’t be for a while.

“And you…” Trailing off, Phichit looks at him.

“Yes,” Yuuri says, almost daring a challenge. It’s the same tone of voice he uses when people get too familiar, question what he does more than is their right, but he feels a bit sheepish when he sees Viktor give him a look. He relaxes his body posture, easing into a smile. “I’ll be alright, though I appreciate your concern.”

“Another selfie?” Phichit holds up his phone, and Yuuri gives him a look. “No jokes this time, I promise.”

Grinning, Yuuri leans close. There’s a hitch in his breath as Viktor leans up behind him, smiling at the camera, and something about Phichit’s smile becomes both fond and knowing. Yuuri’s happy the picture is taken before he remembers that Phichit, having been on the other end of many of Yuuri’s vague rants about his life, knows full well Yuuri’s in love with his best friend.

And now, he knows full well who Yuuri’s best friend is.

Not only that, but  _ he’s _ friends with Yuuri’s best friend, and this is definitely not what Yuuri’d expected at the beginning of the night. 

Damp ends of his hair dripping into his collar, Yuuri squirms uncomfortably. Viktor notices and smiles. “I think it’s time to hit the hay,” he says with an exaggerated yawn. As a group, they move towards the elevator.

“Do you want to come up, Phichit?” Yuuri asks.

Phichit glances at his phone and grimaces. “It’s going on four,” he says. “I should pack everything for my flight. Sorry.”

Yuuri smiles. “It’s fine,” he says. “I’ll send you my Instagrams, now that you know who exactly I am. If you’re going to post pictures of us at any point, though, I need to approve it first.”

“Got it,” Phichit says. “The one I took earlier?”

“Uhh, send it to me and I’ll tell you later.”

Phichit nods. “It’s… it was good to meet you, both in at the party and finally in person,” he says. “What a coincidence, though.”

“Truly,” Yuuri says, smiling. He holds out his arms for a hug, and Phichit grins wider, embracing him.

“You’re not going to tell him, right?” Yuuri whispers into his ear.

“Nah,” Phichit says, “You’re safe.”

They pull apart, Yuuri smiling gratefully. “We should meet up, when we can,” he says. “Maybe I can invite you out?”

“Sounds great!” Phichit exclaims. He hugs Viktor, and then Hana for good measure, before pressing the button for the elevator. “What floor are you on?”

Yuuri blushes. “Umm, I’m in the Royal Suite, there’s a separate elevator for my use.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, all but hanging on him by now, “I left my bag in your room, can I come get it?”

Viktor hasn’t been in the suite and thus can’t have left anything in it, but Yuuri sees it for what it is; a request for time in private, where they don’t need to worry about being anyone but themselves. “Absolutely, Vitya.”

 

The private elevator hums quietly as it carries them upward. “I still can’t believe you cut your hair,” Yuuri says softly, almost mournfully. “It was beautiful.”

Viktor huffs. “Beautiful enough for people to keep grabbing it. I loved it, don’t get me wrong, but I hated people touching it without asking. Sometimes it felt like… people cared more about my hair than they did about me.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says. “I didn’t realize.” Viktor shrugs in that way that says he wants to tell Yuuri the whole situation is fine but knows, objectively, that it isn’t.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” he asks, voice quiet.

Yuuri looks at him, sees the exhaustion in his eyes and the weight of a thousand stares on his shoulders and he nods. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll have to leave after an early lunch, but if you’d like to join me for that…”

“I’d love to,” Viktor replies, full of warmth and fondness and Yuuri smiles as his heart skips a beat.

“Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, life happened and this is a day late. The next chapter should be up later today, though, since it's mostly done.
> 
> Thanks!!!


	6. If You Close Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Mentors, Advisors, and Servants
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Yuuri: 23, Viktor: 27

“Your Highness,” Minako says as they’re finishing their meeting, “I understand you wanted to be involved in the actual events of the Olympic Games as little as you could, and asked to choose what you’d be involved with outside of opening and closing ceremonies, but I took the liberty of arranging your participation in order to ensure what I believe would be a favorable outcome.”

“Minako-sensei, I would have liked to at least seen the options available to me before you went ahead and signed me up.” Yuuri sips his tea, somewhat irritated. Minako knows how much he dislikes having his every move chosen for him, and had promised, repeatedly, that he would be able to make the final decision as to what his role would be.

“My apologies, Sir, however as it was recently announced that Mr. Nikiforov would be representing Russia, I thought you might like to be the one awarding _medals_ for figure skating events.” Her eyes sparkle and she grins as Yuuri figures out what she means.

His eyes widen as his heart leaps in his chest. “Men’s included?”

“Men’s included, Your Highness. Is it safe to assume you want me to keep these events in your schedule?” Nodding, Yuuri can’t help an excited wiggle of his shoulders. He should have trusted his teacher. Minako smiles. “Would you like me to inform Mr. Nikiforov?”

Pursing his lips, Yuuri thinks for a moment. “No,” he says. “I don’t want any more pressure on Vitya than there has to be.” She nods, marking some things down in his calendar, presumably finalizing them. “It says on your schedule that you have a Skype call in ten minutes?”

Yuuri lights up. “Yes! With Vitya!! He wanted to talk about his post-Games visit.” Finishing the last of his tea, he sets the cup on the table to be picked up when someone collects the dishes.

“Remember not to plan anything _during_ the Olympics,” Minako says as Yuuri walks towards the door.

“I know, I know, impartiality and all that. I’ve got this, Minako-sensei.”

She nods, waving him off with a smile.

 

~*~

 

“But why not?” Viktor asks. “The palace knows me, your family knows me, and I can’t take Makkachin with me to the Olympic Village.”

“We’ve already had to talk with Olympic Officials and the ISO about unbiased scoring,” Yuuri replies, shifting his laptop. The talks had been a nightmare, his father repeatedly having to remind them that despite Yuuri’s friendship with one of the competitors, scoring needed to be fair, and the Royal Family _expects_ it to be fair. He runs his fingers through the his hair, combing it over one shoulder. “You staying here would just undermine that until after the event’s over. Stay at the Village during the competition, and then you can come visit like you planned. What if you leave Makkachin at the Palace for the duration of the Olympics? She’ll be here when you arrive.”

“Can I come see her?”

“Will you have time?” Yuuri asks. The likelihood is that Viktor won’t and they both know it. “Vitya,” Yuuri says, voice gentle, “the more you hang out with me during the event, the more people will get suspicious of the judges and the more likely it is that your scores or even _participation_ will be called into question. Makka will be ok, she’ll have me and Vicchan and my family to keep her company. I’ll even take her to her favorite spots in the garden.”

“You promise?” Viktor sighs, resting his chin on his pillow. Makka lays heavily beside him, deep in sleep, and he reaches back to give her a few scratches.

“I promise,” Yuuri replies. “I’ll send you pictures, too.”

“And video?”

“Of course,” Yuuri reassures.

Viktor sighs. “Alright,” he says. He looks morose, disliking the idea that he’ll be so close to Makka but not able to see her. Yuuri would never actually forbid him, and Viktor knows it, but to keep everything on the up-and-up they have to take extra precautions. There are few times Yuuri regrets his status so much as when it causes problems for Viktor.

“I have a surprise for you.” Yuuri says in an attempt to lighten the mood. Grinning, he revels in the way Viktor’s face lights up. His heart skips a beat and _god_ why does Viktor have to be so beautiful?

“What is it?” Propping himself up on his elbows, Viktor smiles as he scoots closer to the camera.

Yuuri laughs. “If I told you, it would hardly be a surprise.”

Pouting, Viktor rests his chin on the pillow in front of him. “Do I only get it if I win something?”

Yuuri bites his lip, trying to figure out how to phrase things right. There's no guarantee Viktor will medal, and Yuuri doesn't want to add to the intense pressure he must be under. To be fair, though, he _also_ doesn't know Yuuri will be seated directly behind the Kiss and Cry.

“I'll put it this way,” he says tentatively. “It’ll be a surprise either way but it’ll be a better one if you medal.” He hopes Viktor medals. The feeling of awarding Olympic gold (or silver, or even _bronze)_ to his best friend… to the man he _loves…_ would likely be indescribable. Regret settles heavy in Yuuri’s stomach. He shouldn't have said anything, he’s said too much, and all he can imagine now is Viktor’s disappointment, standing on the sidelines as he watches Yuuri award medals to other skaters, knowing Yuuri was hoping it was him.

Knowing Yuuri was _disappointed_ that it wasn’t.

“Yuuri!” Viktor’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

“Y-yeah?” Removing his hands from the back of his head, he runs them through his hair quickly, before adjusting his glasses.

“I'm looking forward to seeing you,” Viktor says with more tenderness than Yuuri feels he deserves, “no matter how the Olympics go.”

Yuuri nods, unable to help the crawl of guilt through his chest.

 

Viktor can’t make their next video call appointment, and Yuuri’s unable to make the one after that. As Crown Prince, Yuuri is responsible for supervising and approving much of the work on the new venues for the Olympics, and he frequently sends updates and photos to Viktor. In return, he gets rink selfies, clips of step sequences and soaring jumps. Viktor’s always been a vision on the ice, and Yuuri has never tired of watching his routines, even his practice footage. Aching, his heart flutters and his breath catches in his throat as he watches Viktor’s quad flip for the sixth time.

When Viktor is on the ice he seems freer than he does off it. His emotions aren’t held closely to his chest, his smile isn’t as forced. It’s almost the same as when he’s with Yuuri, both of them long abandoning any pretense in private. Viktor Nikiforov is allowed to be Vitya, and Crown Prince Yuuri is allowed to just be Yuuri, and they’ve kept it that way for years. While it’s nice seeing _his_ Vitya on the ice (not truly his, though, there are enough problems for Viktor as Yuuri’s _friend,_ he’d hate to imagine the issues _dating_ would cause) it’s also sad knowing Viktor has to hide himself from the world.

Completely understandable, though. Unlike Yuuri’s position, Viktor’s doesn’t demand a separation, doesn’t drive people out of arm’s reach. No one would think to grab Yuuri or insist he give them his time, no one would dare try. As a prince, he has a comfortably large personal bubble and the ability to move through the world unhindered, thanks in part to the entourage by which he’s constantly accompanied.

He’s seen footage of Viktor struggling to get away from the press, of him being pushed into smiling for the camera, into talking to people, touching them, hugging them, and Yuuri wishes he could _do_ something but the few times he’s brought up bodyguards, Viktor had laughed him off.

“I’m not _that_ important, Highness, I’m doing fine,” he’d said with a smile.

 _‘You’re that important to me,’_ Yuuri’d wanted to retort, but he’d just nodded. Told Viktor the offer to screen a team was on the table indefinitely and decided not to push it. Enough people tell Viktor what to do in his daily life, and Yuuri refuses to contribute to that.

 

~*~

 

“I love you,” Yuuri wants to say at the end of their next video call. He tries, only to find himself choking on the words before they’ve even reached his mouth. Earnestly, he tries to convey the same sentiment over text, but it never feels like enough. It never feels like he’ll get it through to Viktor just how loved he is, not without risking a confession. As fall turns into winter, Yuuri finds himself pulled in all sorts of directions, his schedule packed as plans are made, edited, reviewed, and finalized.

“I love you,” he types into his phone on too many occasions to count. Many of them, he sends. Others he can’t bring himself to and each time he deletes it he feels a weight settling in his chest, heavy in his heart, and he regrets it even as he tells himself it’s better that he doesn’t. Better that he keeps from coming on too strong. Viktor has enough to think about, enough to worry about without trying to figure out how Yuuri might be feeling, too.

 

~*~

 

Makkachin arrives with Viktor in the cold depths of winter. An unexpected snowstorm catches the pilot by surprise and means by the time the plane lands, both Viktor and Makkachin are absolutely aching to be on solid ground. They eat a nice lunch together, Yuuri and Viktor with Yuuri’s family, before Viktor’s whisked off to meet Yakov at their hotel. Yuuri lays in bed that night, both dogs under the covers next to him, and as he curls his arm around Makkachin he thinks of Viktor, alone with only his thoughts and all of the expectation Russia’s put on his shoulders.

The next day he gets plenty of selfies of Viktor in his team Russia uniform, red and white bright against the pale blue of the ice and Yuuri sends one in return. He’s bundled up, out on the grounds with the dogs. He gets video of Makkachin and Vicchan leaping into snow banks, leaving their front halves caked in white while their still-brown tails wag behind them.

“I’ll have them washed and brushed, don’t worry,” he texts Viktor upon getting a string of exclamation points.

“They’re just too cute!” he gets in response, with a heart-mouthed emoji. Clutching his phone to his chest, Yuuri sighs, watching as the dogs run ahead.

 

~*~

 

Viktor’s last night staying at a hotel before going to the Olympic Village, Yuuri sneaks in, disguised in jeans and a peacoat and a beanie and finds the selfie he’d gotten Viktor to send with his room number. Once he gets near the elevator, though, he realizes he doesn't actually understand how hotels _work._ He risks a glance at a nearby desk. One of the people there could help, he thinks. Adjusting his glasses, pulling his beanie down low over his eyes, he walks up to the desk.

“Hi, will one of you take me to room 614 please?” Two of them look at each other, while the third looks Yuuri up and down.

“Of course, sir,” she says. “If… if you’ll follow me?”

Yuuri gives a nod and indicates permission, walking with her down the hall. “Do you not travel much?” she asks as they wait for the elevator.

“Not alone,” Yuuri replies. He picks at his sleeves, a nervous habit in which he doesn’t often let himself indulge, rocking back and forth on his feet. She gives him a once-over again, and smiles.

“So,” the woman says after a moment, “when you’re in a hotel, the first number of the room number matches up with the floor number. And then there should be signs from there.”

“Ah. Thank you,” Yuuri says. The doors open, and he has to remind himself that he’s supposed to be incognito while they walk. There are signs on the walls, pointing in different directions with lists of numbers to follow, and soon enough he’s able to figure out which way they’re turning before they do. She stops in front of the door Yuuri’d seen in the photograph, one in a long hall of them, and gives a bit of a bow.

“Have a good evening Your—” blushing, she seems to remember that Yuuri’s clearly trying to stay undercover, and Yuuri laments the fact that he apparently wasn’t as smooth as he thought he was. “Have a good evening, Sir,” she says.

Yuuri nods. “Thank you,” he says, “both for your assistance and your discretion.”

“Of course, Sir.” Turning on her heel, she leaves, and Yuuri is tempted to call out and ask how she knew, but doesn’t. He’s been to more than enough events in the hotels around the city that much of the staff would know him by sight even if he _wasn’t_ next in line for the throne. Taking a deep breath, he knocks on Viktor’s door. It’s a loud knock, meant for heavy wood and large spaces rather than the intimacy of a hotel hallway, and he’s just raising his fist again when the door opens.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispers, running his fingers through his hair. Looking out in the hallway, he checks both directions before pulling Yuuri into the room. “Is something wrong with Makkachin?”

“What? No,” Yuuri says, “I’d have called you! No, she still can’t reach the steamed buns anymore and she’s still upset about it, but she’s fine.”

“Oh,” Viktor says, putting a hand on his chest, “my phone was dead, I thought you might have been trying to call and then couldn’t get through.”

“I wasn’t. I came to see you!”

“Was this your surprise?” Grinning, Viktor’s eyes sparkle. His cheeks are ruddy in the warmth of the hotel room, his lips soft and inviting and Yuuri stares, transfixed for a moment before snapping out of it.

Yuuri sticks out his tongue. “I should let you believe it is, but I won’t. No, your surprise will be at the Olympics themselves. This is me getting bored and sneaking out.”

“Can we expect angry bodyguards at the door?”

Grinning, Yuuri shakes his head. “No,” he replies, “there’s a mildly irritated one sitting in the lobby.”

Knowing there’s nothing to worry about brings a smile to Viktor’s face and he wraps his arms around Yuuri. “It’s good to see you,” he says. “I thought for sure the next time would be at opening ceremonies!”

“Yeah, me too,” Yuuri hugs him. Backing away, he grins as he pulls his messenger bag open. “I brought you some good luck candies,” he says, “and some of that chocolate you love so much. Makkachin also chewed one of my slippers, so I brought that so you can see what your dog has done.”

“Seriously?”

Yuuri grins. “Not the slipper, she didn’t actually chew one, but I brought snacks.” He dumps them on a small table— desk?— near Viktor’s TV. “I brought some sparkling water, too. With strawberry. And some soda if you wanted it.” The sparkling water is in its own glass bottles, fresh cut fruit resting gently on the bottom, and it clacks against the glass on the table when Yuuri sets it down. He looks around for something to pour it in. Viktor sets two paper cups in front of him and smiles when Yuuri looks up.

Fumbling slightly with the paper cups, Yuuri fills both with the water, handing one to Viktor. They sit on the bed, side by side in absence of more comfortable seating and it’s almost hard to keep himself from leaning on Viktor like he used to. He wonders if Viktor has noticed him keeping his distance, and if he has, how does he feel about it? Probably bad, probably rejected and Yuuri aches with the desire to come clean, to tell Viktor that he’s been in love with him for years, that he wants to stay with him for the rest of his life.

If he did, though, and Viktor said yes would it be because he returns Yuuri’s feelings, or because he feels obliged to pretend he does? With Yuuri’s position, it’s easy to see how a request can look like an order, how even something so simple as a confession can seem to carry obligation. Viktor’s love, if Yuuri should be so lucky to have it, ought to be freely given. Sighing, he allows himself to move closer anyway. Viktor’s smile doesn’t escape his notice and maybe, even though he shouldn’t say it with words, Yuuri can show his love by treating Viktor with all the care and respect and tenderness he deserves.

“How are you feeling?” Yuuri asks.

After a deep, shaky breath, Viktor rests his head against the headboard. “Nervous,” he says. “This… this isn’t my first Olympics, I know, but… I’m nervous.”

“Understandable,” Yuuri responds. “It’s huge. It’s a competition. You have every right to be nervous.” He takes a sip of his water. “I have faith in you, though. I have faith you’re going to do your best, and that’s all anyone should expect.”

“Oh, thank god,” Viktor mutters, letting out a sigh of relief.

“You thought I was going to tell you not to worry?”

Viktor shrugs in response. “You don’t know how many times I’ve heard some variation of ‘you’ll be fine, you’re Viktor Nikiforov’ and it’s just…”

“They’re assholes,” Yuuri says. Without the confines of court, he allows himself to be blunt. “I’m proud of you for getting this far, Vitya. Whether or not you even make the free skate.”

“There’s just so much pressure, Yuuri,” he says, voice hoarse. He carries the weight of a nation on his shoulders. It’s a burden Yuuri knows all too well, and he shifts even closer.

“Vitya,” he says softly, “you’re allowed to be human.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.”

“I know,” Yuuri says, because while the nature of their situations is different, the pressure is very similar, and Yuuri knows intimately what it is to be forced into a mold. He sighs, making what’s likely a bad decision. Draining his water, he sets the paper cup to the side before looking back over. “Do you want to cuddle?” he asks. Physical contact grounds Viktor, helps him collect his thoughts, collect himself when he feels overwhelmed and frankly, he doesn’t get enough of it.

“Please,” Viktor whispers.

Biting his lip, Yuuri texts his bodyguard quickly while Viktor finishes his water and puts the cup on the bedside table. His phone pings with a response, and he sighs with relief. He’ll purchase coffee for them both tomorrow morning.

“I could stay here tonight,” he says, “if you want.”

The look on Viktor’s face tells him it’s more of a need than a want, and Yuuri nods without him having to say anything. “I’ll need to borrow pajamas,” he says, smiling. Before he’s finished his sentence, Viktor’s already digging though his luggage.

 

Freshly changed, in a pair of Viktor’s sweats and a baggy t-shirt, Yuuri climbs into the bed, pulling his hair loose and letting it cascade onto the pillow. The clothing is well-worn enough to be soft against his skin, and when the lights are off Yuuri pulls Viktor close, sighing heavily as Viktor wraps his arms around him. Running his fingers through Viktor’s hair, Yuuri resists the urge to kiss the top of his head, resists the urge to whisper love in the string of reassurances coming from his mouth as Viktor buries his face in Yuuri’s chest and clings.

 

~*~

 

Viktor’s lodging in the Olympic Village is more than adequate and the facilities everything he needs. The Opening Ceremonies are full of as much pomp and circumstance as one would expect. As Russia’s flagbearer, Viktor doesn’t need to worry about being lost in the crowd. Exuberance fills the arena as the procession winds its way around the stadium, full of cheering crowds and flags from all over the globe, but about two-thirds of the way through the trip they pass by the Royal Family, standing regal in a box near the Olympic Torch. Viktor flashes a smile upwards, sees Yuuri’s hand twitch as he resists an urgent wave, and as he passes he can’t help but feel a sadness mixed in with the sheer elation coursing through his body. This is the last time he’ll see Yuuri before Closing Ceremonies. At least they’ll be able to text and video call.

With figure skating later in the Games, Viktor has more than enough time to devote to training, improving his programs as much as he can without pushing his limits too hard. He’s tempted, he’s sorely tempted but Yuuri reminds him, in his gentle way, that an injury could take him out of the Games for good. The thought of competing is frightening, but the thought of letting Russia down before he even skates the short program even moreso.

 

~*~

 

The night before the short program Viktor finds himself curled up on the floor, next to his bed as he runs anxious fingers through his hair. His phone vibrates next to him, and he picks it up so he can tell Yakov to leave him alone for more than five minutes, but pauses when he sees a text from Yuuri.

 **From: Yuuri  o(^♡^)o** **  
** **< <<   how are you feeling?  _(:3」∠)_ **

 **To: Yuuri  o(^♡^)o** **  
** **> >>   Still nervous. Worried.** **  
** **> >>   Yakov is trying to make some last-minute changes** **  
** **> >>   I don’t know if I should listen to him this time or just do my thing**

 **From: Yuuri  o(^♡^)o** **  
** **< <<   yakov’s not the one competing. (￢ ￢) ****  
** **< <<   skate for yourself, vitya** **  
** **< <<   you told me once you skate your best when the program makes you feel good  (*＾▽＾)／** **  
** **< <<   so skate the probram that’ll make you happy** **  
** **< <<   *program**

 

Viktor snorts. He wants to ask if Yuuri will let him call, but it’s almost midnight and he has to be up early as it is. Still, though, it’s nice to have the reminder, even if Yuuri _is_ throwing his own words back in his face. To be fair, though, they’re good words.

 **To: Yuuri  o(^♡^)o** **  
** **> >>   Yuuri**

 **From: Yuuri  o(^♡^)o** **  
** **< <<   yes?**

 **To: Yuuri  o(^♡^)o** **  
** **> >>   Watch me skate?**

 

It’s been years since he’s felt the need to ask if Yuuri will watch him, but once it was an almost comforting part of his routine. He sighs, waiting for Yuuri’s response to this last-ditch attempt to make himself feel even marginally better.

 **From: Yuuri  o(^♡^)o**  
**< <<   of course. always, vitya.**  
**< <<   i’ll be watching. ヾ（*⌒ヮ⌒*）ゞ**

 

~*~

 

As he’s walking towards the Kiss and Cry after his short program, Viktor’s eyes are caught by a familiar pair of blue-rimmed glasses in the seats above. His eyes widen and his mouth gapes briefly when he realizes Yuuri came to watch in disguise, and he clutches a hand to his chest when Yuuri waves with a smile. Viktor sits on the bench, holding onto his Makkachin tissue box while his scores are calculated.

He ends up in third place, securing his opportunity to compete for Olympic gold and that night Yuuri’s calling him over Skype almost ten minutes before the scheduled time.

“Vitya,” he sighs with relief when Viktor answers.

“You were there!” Viktor says excitedly.

“I was!” Yuuri replies. His hair is pulled back into a messy bun, a few shorter tendrils hanging loose around his face. “I’ll be there for the free, too.”

“A wonderful surprise, Yuuri,” Viktor says.

Biting his lip, Yuuri looks down for a brief moment before looking back at the screen. “I thought you’d enjoy it,” he says. “I’m glad.”

Yuuri looks abruptly to the side just before a dog nose pokes at his face, Makkachin licking him from chin to hairline before Yuuri can react. He scratches her head, giggling and telling her what a sweet girl she is. Makka looks happy. Makka looks content as she plops down next to Yuuri, Vicchan crawling on top of her, and Viktor feels tears well up in his throat. He misses her. He misses Yuuri and it’s awful being so close but so far, even if he agrees with Yuuri’s assessment of the situation. Yuuri’s father is the head of Akitsushima’s government, Yuuri second in command. It would be far too easy for someone to make accusations of corruption, and far too difficult to disprove them to take the risk.

 

~*~

 

The day of the free skate comes far too quickly and not quickly enough. The closer Viktor gets to skating, strangely, the calmer he feels. He knows which version of Stammi Vicino he wants to skate, and he knows for whom he is performing. Too scared for an outright confession, Viktor decides to do what he does best. Skate his heart. There’s a reason he’s known for physical expression, for conveying emotion through every movement, every turn of his skates, and he centers himself with the goal of telling Yuuri exactly how much he loves him. Exactly how much he means to Viktor and he hopes Yuuri will understand, dreams of reciprocation and he crushes the voice inside him that says he’s not good enough.

Steeling himself, he takes a deep breath as the skater before him makes his way off the ice and towards the Kiss and Cry. A quick glance at the seats above confirms Yuuri’s there, sitting in jeans and a sweatshirt, hood pulled up over his hair in lieu of a beanie. He smiles at Viktor, dazzling and lovely and it knocks the air out of Viktor’s chest.

“Watch me?” he asks with his eyes. Yuuri nods, smile growing just a bit brighter as he leans forward, against the railing.

Viktor’s name is announced and, with a final smile in Yuuri’s direction, he steps on the ice to give the performance of a lifetime.

 

~*~

 

Even in the quiet of the private room Yuuri’d used to change into his formal outfit, he can hear the roar of the crowd as one of the last few competitor’s scores is read off. Seated on a couch, he sighs, leans forward, and he bounces his leg impatiently. Viktor performed marvelously, to be sure, but despite an outstandingly high score, there’s still no guarantee, no way to be certain, and all Yuuri can do is picture Viktor’s disappointed face, watching the medaling, watching Yuuri, knowing that if he’d done better than his best he might have been up there and it doesn’t matter that Viktor’s in first. All Yuuri can imagine is him losing and he resists the urge to pull his hair out of its elaborate knot in order to have something to run his fingers through.

“Your Highness.”

Minako’s voice pulls him just far enough out of his thoughts for him to look up at her, making eye contact. She smiles.

“He’s sure to medal, Sir,” she says, and all at once Yuuri feels the anxiety ease, his heart slow, and he takes a deep breath as he nods.

“Thank you, Minako-sensei,” he says as he stands straight and adjusts his outfit. Despite being allowed suits even for domestic events, Yuuri’s wearing the traditional clothing of the court. His kimono-style shirt is the deep green that’s been associated with his family for centuries with gold embroidery running up the left flap and gracing the ends of his sleeves, loose black pants and split-toed boots complete the outfit. He’s wearing a more ornate circlet than he normally does, gold with emeralds that compliments his father’s coronation crown and is a symbol of his status as Crown Prince. In the time that’s left before the medaling ceremony, he paces back and forth across the room, excitement and anticipation coursing through him. Viktor will win a medal, and he will be there to award it.

 

~*~

 

At the top of the Olympic podium, Viktor smiles. He’s here, in Hasetsu, and Yuuri’s somewhere in the crowd watching. Part of him wishes he could see him, could get a hug and in-person congratulations and maybe, maybe the gold that will soon be around his neck will help him be bold enough to tell the prince how he feels. Possibly kiss him. Maybe. His ears perk up as the announcer’s voice booms through the arena, and his heart skips a beat in disbelief once the Japanese registers. He must have gotten the translation wrong, and he waits with bated breath for the repetition in English.

“Awarding medals for all Olympic Figure Skating Events will be His Royal Highness Yuuri, Crown Prince of Akitsushima.”

He’d understood right, and his heart soars as he sees Yuuri and the Olympic Officials making their way down the long carpet. Yuuri had mentioned a surprise. Yuuri had mentioned looking forward to seeing his performance. It had seemed more earnest than what he'd expect if Yuuri were just going to sit at the Kiss and Cry and _this_ must be why.

Yuuri awards the bronze first, smiling as he says quiet words of congratulations and shakes their hand. His eyes sparkle as he moves across the podium, and they flick towards Viktor as Yuuri holds back a wider smile. He repeats the process with the silver medalist, shaking their hand as well, before moving to stand in front of Viktor.

Eyes shimmering and with a smile that says only practice is keeping it from being a wide grin, Yuuri looks up. He pulls the medal out of the case, and Viktor leans forward, feeling the thick ribbon come to rest on the nape of his neck. He straightens up, and Yuuri gives him a nod. “Congratulations, Mr. Nikiforov,” he says, pride dripping from every word, “Russia must be proud.” The _“I know_ I _am”_ remains unspoken, but it’s clear in the way Yuuri carries himself, the way his eyes crinkle at the sides and Viktor wants to kiss the lines, kiss his perfect nose and his perfect eyebrows and here he is, Olympic Gold around his neck and his best friend there not only to see it, but having awarded it himself.

Viktor nods as a lump rises to the back of his throat. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” he says as Yuuri hands him his bouquet of flowers. Yuuri steps back while the Russian National Anthem rings through the stadium. Giving a few waves to the crowd, Viktor smiles, but try as he might he can’t keep his eyes from coming to rest on Yuuri.

Standing at attention, back straight and his hands clasped firmly behind him, Yuuri looks up to meet Viktor’s gaze. He raises his eyebrows and mouths “surprise!” before giving Viktor a subtle wink, and it’s all Viktor can do to not leap off the podium and wrap his arms around his best friend. They take press photos first, being careful to appear neutral, but just as they go to leave the rink, the Palace Photographer comes over.

“Highness,” he says, catching Yuuri’s attention.

“What is it?”

“Your parents have requested a picture of the two of you.”

Yuuri grins, immediately slotting himself into Viktor’s side for a photo. Viktor wraps his arm around him in return, draping his hand around Yuuri’s waist. Yuuri shivers under his touch, biting his bottom lip as he looks up at Viktor. Face bright red, Yuuri’s mouth opens slightly before clearing his throat, looking back over towards the photographer. His hand tightens on Viktor’s hip while they smile for the cameras, the flashes blinding for a few seconds. They pull apart, and Yuuri shakes his hand again for some reason before they exit the rink.

“Congratulations, Vitya,” he says when they’re out of the public eye.

“Vysochestvo,” Viktor says, “as far as surprises go, this…”

“Did you like it?” Yuuri asks, looking up with sparkling eyes.

“I loved it,” Viktor responds, almost breathless. _‘I love_ you, _Yuuri,’_ he wants to say. Instead, he shifts his weight. “Olympic Gold, put on my neck by my best friend? Incredible. The only way it could have been better would have been…” He trails off and everything goes still as he meets Yuuri’s gaze, the sound of the distant crowds muffled into near silence as their world shrinks to include only each other.

“Would have been what, Vitya?” Yuuri’s eyes bore into him, questioning, almost hopeful. He’s biting his lip again, holding his hands in front of his chest like he does when he’s not quite sure what to do with them, and Viktor thinks for a moment that maybe, just _maybe_ Yuuri may feel the same.

“Would have been if you—”

“Vitya!” Yakov’s voice is loud from behind them, and Viktor turns to look as everything comes rushing back. “You have press to do!”

He nods, then sighs, looking back at Yuuri. “Would have been if you’d been at the Kiss and Cry with me,” he finishes. It’s probably a good thing Yakov interrupted and kept him from saying anything that would cause their relationship to become awkward. If that’s the case, though, why does Yuuri look so thoroughly _disappointed?_

“My apologies, Vitya,” Yuuri says around a deceptive smile. He glances away and nods when a bodyguard makes a short gesture. “I should leave,” he says, looking at his hands. “I’ll see you at the palace, though, after Closing Ceremonies. Makkachin says ‘Hi,’ and I’ll be sure to show her your performance. Your family will be there as well, we’re having them picked up from the hotel tomorrow afternoon.”

Viktor chuckles, nodding even as he feels his blush spread. “I can’t wait,” he says.

Yuuri nods as several bodyguards come to stand next to him. “Me neither. Your coach seems to be waiting for you, you should…”

“Yeah,” Viktor says.

Yuuri nods, biting his lower lip before he sighs softly. “I look forward to your arrival at the Palace,” he says.

“I look forward to seeing you again,” Viktor responds, breathless as he attempts to keep himself from doing something he may regret and as he watches Yuuri walking away, he can’t help but feel the weight of his feelings between them, an uncomfortable wedge, slowly but steadily pushing them apart.

 

During the short drive back to the Olympic Village, he regrets saying anything, and he regrets saying nothing, and that night Viktor lies awake in bed wondering what he’s going to do now.

_(You only live once, he thinks, and he makes his decision.)_

 

~*~

 

He’s late. Yuuri holds onto the circlet he’s wearing as he runs through the halls of the palace. He’d gone to take a relaxing bath, he’d fallen asleep and stayed that way for far too long, and Viktor should be arriving from the Olympic Village at any second if he hasn’t already and on this, of all days, Yuuri is _late._ Down the main staircase he runs, taking a flying leap over the last few steps. Barely missing an attendant, he gasps an apology before sprinting down the hall towards the back driveway. There’s no guarantee he’s even going to find everyone there. For all he knows, they’re sitting around the table in the dining room, wondering why on Earth it is that Yuuri isn’t there with them. Narrowly dodging a footman, he ducks around a corner and he can see the back doors, they’re so close and despite his screaming muscles, he pushes harder.

As he bursts out into the sunlight, he runs across the stone terrace, smiling when he sees the car just pulling up. His family and the Nikiforovs are there, waiting, and Mari waves when she sees Yuuri. Katya’s holding the dog leashes tightly as Viktor exits the car. Down the steps Yuuri runs, out of breath and with a definite stitch in his side, only to see the grin on Viktor’s face blossom into the most beautiful heart and Yuuri feels his breath hitch as Viktor drops his things and sprints up the bottom half of the stairs. They meet on the landing in the middle, and Yuuri’s glad he’s already holding onto his circlet when Viktor takes a flying leap at him.

Their bodies crash together an instant before their mouths and— oh, god, _Viktor’s_ kissing _him—_ and when they fall to the ground Yuuri barely feels the impact on the stone below, cradled in Viktor’s arms as he is.

“Vitya,” he whispers, staring into the depths of warm blue eyes as he feels a blush spreading across his face, only to notice a matching one spreading across Viktor’s and down his neck and Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat as he wonders how his life has gotten to this point.

_How did he get so lucky?_

“After a surprise like that,” Viktor gasps, breathless, “I could only hope to surprise you just as much.” His voice is warm and loving and full of affection and Yuuri’s heart swells in his chest and he feels like he’s going to burst from happiness.

In lieu of a response, he sets his circlet to the side as gently as he can and, with both hands, pulls Viktor firmly back down for another kiss. It’s all he’d ever dreamed it would be, it’s so much _more_ and it feels so _right,_ like he’s been waiting eons for this very moment. Viktor’s tender enthusiasm only matches his own, and as they break apart, resting their foreheads together, they sigh in unison. Happy, content, they enjoy their little pocket in the world for just a minute longer.

Viktor stands first, holding his hand out to Yuuri. Sitting up, Yuuri puts on his circlet, allows himself to be pulled to standing, and wraps his arm around Viktor’s waist. There’s a kiss on his temple, another on his lips, and when Viktor’s arm sneaks around him he giggles, but as they walk down to their families Yuuri sighs happily.

“I love you,” he says, for the first time when it’s not over text and bubbles of excitement burst in his chest.

“I love you, too,” Viktor replies softly, tenderly, punctuating it with another kiss on Yuuri’s temple. Yuuri lifts his face in a question, Viktor kisses his lips in an answer, and they both pull just a bit closer to each other as they reach the bottom of the staircase.

“I love you,” they whisper again in happy unison and laugh. They’ve messaged each other the words plenty before, but somehow they mean ever so much more now that they know it’s entirely mutual. Yuuri grins as the dogs run over, as Lyosha claps and Katya hugs them and Mari ruffles Yuuri’s hair through his circlet while all four parents smile, and he knows the thrill of saying those words will never fade, now that they _have_ each other.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit it's taken long enough!!!!
> 
> This story has really been absolutely a joy to write, and an incredibly joy to publish thanks to you guys!!!!!
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope the last chapter does the story justice.


	7. Of Love and Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Happily Ever After
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Yuuri: 24, Viktor: 28

“You’re telling me we have to work over our honeymoon?”

Yuuri sighs as he navigates the familiar roads near the Summer Palace. “It’s not like we’re doing a lot of things, but since we’re on this side of Akitsushima we should go make an appearance. Especially since you’re the new Prince-Consort.” Gently slowing the car, Yuuri turns into a small wooded area. It’s only a thin line of trees, forty feet or so before they come to a tall stone wall with a guard house. Yuuri rolls his window down.

“Hi,” he says smiling.

The guard smiles. “Welcome, Your Highnesses, and congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says as the guard activates the gate. “I appreciate it.”

She bows as it opens, gesturing him through. The driveway is long, meandering through an artfully cultivated forest. There are far too many clearings for it to be natural, the trees too maintained, but the general atmosphere is still there, especially as compared to the main palace back in Hasetsu. Viktor watches intently as they make their way towards the smaller palace. It feels more like a country estate to Yuuri, despite it being a very small palace rather than a very large house. At this point, he’s fully admitted that he has a skewed perception of how big or small residences should be, and Viktor is, as he’s always been, kind enough to explain stuff like that without sounding condescending. They drive through another line of trees, and then the Summer Palace comes into view.

Viktor lets out a gasp next to him. He's heard about the Palace, has seen pictures, but they'd never had the chance to come visit. Even when Viktor had moved to Hasetsu after their engagement was announced, much of their time was taken by his training and competitions and Yuuri’s duty as Prince, with what spare time they had frequently devoted to wedding planning. It's hard to believe that it was just a year and a half ago that they’d finally figured themselves out. Part of Yuuri regrets that it wasn’t sooner, but as it is, he wouldn’t give up what they have for the world.

“It’s so big,” Viktor says as they pull closer.

Yuuri hesitates for a moment. His initial reaction is to deny it, but constantly pointing things like that out can get to be grating, especially for Viktor so he goes with the safest option: tacit agreement. “Yes,” he blurts, with neither preamble nor follow-up

Viktor laughs next to him, leaning over the center console to kiss him on the cheek. “I love you,” he says.

Yuuri pulls up at the back entrance, smoothly coming to a stop. “I love you, too,” he says, returning the kiss. They get out of the car, let the dogs out of the back, and Yuuri lets Viktor take everything in. High on a hill as they are, their view stretches across the town to the north and the ocean nearby. The midday sun glistens on the water, and a sea breeze ruffles the trees.

“It’s beautiful,” Viktor whispers.

Yuuri smiles. He hands off the keys, taking Viktor’s hand in his. “We have a private beach,” he says, “where we won’t be photographed. If you wanted to swim. We can take the dogs.”

“Does this mean Makkachin is a princess now?”

Laughing, Yuuri takes his hand, pulling him towards the palace. “I guess it does. We’re princes, she’s ours. Their Highnesses Princess Makkachin and Prince Vicchan.”

“We should get them crowns.” Viktor says as Yuuri pulls him inside, followed closely by the dogs.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Yuuri replies.

 

~*~

 

Viktor’s famished by the time Yuuri’s given him the tour. The entire palace here is just bigger than the residential area in Hasetsu, luckily far more easily navigable, and they make their way to a dining room with wide, open windows. They sit down to a relatively simple lunch, noodles with vegetables and thin slices of beef, with a pot of tea. It’s delicious, and Yuuri smiles.

“Do you like it?” Yuuri asks when they’re almost done.

“I love it,” Viktor replies. Then, just because he _can,_ he says, “I love you, too.”

Blushing, Yuuri pushes what’s left of his noodles around with his chopsticks. “I love you, Vitya,” he says with a grin that only reinforces his words. The impression Viktor’s gotten is that the Summer Palace is far more casual than Hasetsu, and it’s already easier to see. The staff uniforms are more comfortable and utilitarian than Viktor’s used to. They smile more, act just a bit more familiarly with Yuuri than the staff back home. Yuuri, in turn, looks more relaxed as well.

“Your Highnesses,” an attendant says, and Viktor’s not sure he’s ever going to get used to being addressed by title, “would you like a dessert brought out?”

Yuuri nods, and after their dishes are cleared plates of a fluffy angel food cake are brought out, layered with berries and fresh whipped cream.

“Do you want a blackberry?” Yuuri asks.

“I have blackberries,” Viktor responds.

“Fine,” Yuuri says, “don't accept my blackberry.” Popping it into his mouth he raises an eyebrow in Viktor’s direction as he licks traces of whipped cream off his lips.

Viktor vaguely regrets not taking the blackberry. “So what’s the plan today?” he asks, cutting a piece of cake and spearing it on his fork.

“We’re just going to the local skating rink for a few hours,” Yuuri replies. “It’s kind of small as a first appearance goes, but we have the State Dinner a week after we get home and that’ll be your big… Debut. Thing.”

“What are we wearing?”

“Slacks and a button-up,” Yuuri says, “probably waistcoats as well, but we’ll be wearing workout clothes to skate. We’ll be meeting the local skate club.”

 

An hour later they pull up in front of the local ice rink. Stepping out, they’re greeted by a small group of the press and members of the general public, though public access to the rink has been restricted. That doesn’t stop people from gathering, and Yuuri and Viktor walk in slowly, greeting everyone with smiles, nodding and waving. Many people are fans of figure skating as well, cheering for Viktor, and he regrets his inability to sign autographs now.

Once they're through the doors, they take their great bags from their bodyguards. The staff is assembled to greet them and the press follows closely behind. Yuuri moves down the line first, shaking hands with each person after they bow. Viktor follows behind closely, smiling as he greets people. It’s nothing he hasn't done before, but there's a sort of distance about things that is both strange and surprisingly comforting. It’s been that way since they’d announced their relationship, steadily becoming more and more noticeable as time went on, and Viktor understands why it was Yuuri was so appalled at how he was treated by fans and the press.

They’re guided to the locker room where, thankfully, the press is forbidden. Changing into his work-out clothes, Yuuri is quiet. He still hasn’t said anything by the time he’s finished braiding his hair, and Viktor wraps his arms around him, holding him close as he kisses his temple. “You alright?”

“Yes,” Yuuri sighs. There’s a pause, and he sighs again. “What if I fall?”

“Everyone falls, Yuuri.” Viktor fell last week. Several times. Yuuri’s not unaware of this, because he was on the ice watching.

“I'm a prince, I'm not supposed to fall.”

“Ok, well,” Viktor says, _“I'm_ a prince now, and also have two Olympic golds for figure skating, and I _still_ say falling is fine.”

Turning, Yuuri sticks his tongue out. “Rude,” he mutters, pulling on his t-shirt. “I just don’t want them to judge me, you know?”

“But Yuuri,” Viktor says, wrapping his arms around his husband once more, “imagine the example it will set when they see their Crown Prince falling and getting up! That even royalty struggles with stuff so it’s okay for them, too!”

 _“You're_ royalty,” Yuuri retorts. “You’ve been royalty for like, two days now.” It’s a weak excuse and Yuuri’s expression says he knows it.

Viktor sighs. “I married in, they _grew up_ with you as their Crown Prince. It’ll mean more that it’s _you_ and not someone who used to do this for a living, title or no.”

Yuuri sighs, resting his forehead on Viktor's bare chest. “You're right,” he says. “Okay. We should get out there before they send someone looking for us.”

Viktor nods, pulling on his shirt and putting on his skates in short order. Yuuri finishes lacing his boots as Viktor does, standing with him and giving him a kiss. There’s a flurry of camera flashes as they enter the rink, and they smile and wave as they take off their skate guards. A bodyguard takes them, slipping them into his pockets.

The press isn’t allowed on the ice, but the skate club is assembled to greet them. Once Viktor and Yuuri have skated over, an adult, presumably the coach, gets everyone’s attention, speaking clearly in the country’s dialect of Japanese.

“With us today are Their Royal Highnesses, Crown Prince Yuuri and Prince Viktor.” Yuuri gives a shallow nod, Viktor following suit, and an older teenager with a shock of red against his blond hair skates over, bowing deeply at the waist.

“My name is Minami Kenjirou, Your Highness,” he says to Viktor, “and I welcome both of you on behalf of everyone here.” Behind him, the skate club bows in unison, holding it for a second before straightening back up. Minami is wearing a National Team jacket and clearly very comfortable on the ice, likely one of Akitsushima’s top competitors.

Yuuri holds out his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Minami-kun.”

Shaking, it, Minami nods. “You, too, Your Royal Highness! You haven’t been visiting the Summer Palace as often, have you?”

“No,” Yuuri replies, shaking his head. “Between taking on more responsibilities in government and then with the wedding, there haven’t been many opportunities.” Their exchange isn’t casual, per se, but it’s familiar enough that it’s clear they’ve met several times before.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Minami says. “Were there many problems?”

“With?” Yuuri frowns.

“With marrying a figure skater,” Minami replies, blushing, with a half-hearted gesture towards Viktor.

Smiling, Yuuri shakes his head. “Not really.”

That’s not quite the truth, Viktor knows, but he smiles and nods just the same. The nobility, even without actual legal recourse, had tried to fight; first against their next sovereign marrying a foreigner, and then against him marrying a _commoner._ Yuuri, with the help of his parents, had refuted their arguments with both patience and authority until there were none left. These arguments with the nobility had been more frequent than Viktor had been lead to believe at the time, distracted as he was by his last competitive season. When he’d found out and asked about it, Yuuri had just sighed, pulling him closer and reminding him that he was training, competing. They’d wanted to keep him from too much additional stress, Yuuri had said, and with the nobility it was less a matter of _if_ they’d win the fight so much as _when._

Viktor doesn’t need to be protected, is more than capable of asking Yuuri to avoid a subject that’s unnecessarily stressful, and he’d reminded him during that conversation, one of the few actual fights they’ve had over the course of their friendship. Yuuri had promised more transparency after that, and to this day has kept his word.

The people of Akitsushima, unlike the nobility, had celebrated the announcement of their engagement, close on the heels of the confirmation of their relationship. It had been Hiroko’s idea to excuse it by saying their relationship had been kept quiet before that, with the reasoning that they’d wanted the Olympics to be judged fairly should Viktor have been selected to go. Highly visible, his and Yuuri’s friendship had been public knowledge for years, well-loved on various social media platforms, and the excuses were more than readily accepted. It was hard enough, the public reasoned, that the Crown Prince’s friend was competing in the country without the judges worrying further about inciting Viktor’s anger as a potential spouse to their future monarch.

In the end, it had worked out, and Viktor smiles as he listens to the skate club talk about themselves and their accomplishments. They run through some exercises, Viktor adding flair with a smile. Yuuri keeps pace with the intermediate members, if only barely, until they end up running jumps. He blushes when Viktor talks about his lone double, the axel, (and Viktor honestly doesn’t understand how Yuuri still struggles with the other jumps when the double axel is his most consistent. It makes more sense when he remembers Yuuri’s first single was, somehow, _also_ an axel,) blushing when he falls on his first attempt. He tries twice more, both times barely managing to stay on his skates, but as he takes a lap to gain speed Viktor sees a familiar determined glint in his eye.

The crack of Yuuri’s blade against the ice is solid as he lands the double with perfect form, to the applause of everyone on the rink. The press clamor for another performance, and Yuuri does one more beautifully, smiling as he skates back to Viktor.

“Why don’t you show us that quad flip you’re so famous for?” he asks with a grin. Viktor kisses him now, because he can, even in front of everyone, and takes off. He takes two laps around the rink, twizzling his way across the ice a couple times before picking up speed. Grinning, he adjusts his angle, turns to skate backward, and when he jumps he’s soaring. Four rotations high above the ice, and he lands solidly with his body facing his husband. Yuuri shares his smile.

At the end of the practice session, Minami performs his free skate for the next season. He’s relatively consistent with three quads, able to land another, and the energy he carries is infectiously joyful. The entire skate club claps along with the music, claps along with him during his choreographic sequence. The exuberance with which he skates is truly stunning, the potential for greatness shining through his every movement. Viktor almost regrets that he won’t be able to compete against him.

Pictures are taken of Yuuri and Viktor with the skate club both on the ice and in various places around the rink. There's a wall of photographs, presumably other famous visitors, and Yuuri pulls on his sleeve, pointing.

“Look, Vitya,” he says in clear Japanese, “this was the first time I ever visited. I was four.” In the photo, Yuuri stands on the ice in his skates, hands held on either side by his parents. Mari stands next to her father in front of a much older man. “That's my grandpa,” Yuuri remarks. “This was a couple of months before he died, he was King at the time. My father was Crown Prince.”

“You were adorable,” Viktor says.

Yuuri chuckles as he moves along the wall, pointing again. “I was eight, here,” he says, pointing to a picture of him and Mari with a group of kids. “Then I didn't come back till I was twelve.”

“After you met me?”

Yuuri blushes, nodding. “Yeah. I didn't get to skate much at home but out here I got to. I came back every few years for a while, but we didn't take pictures as often.” He gestures at another. In it, he’s in his late teens standing next to a group of children, including a familiar-looking blond Viktor realizes is Minami.

Wrapping an arm around Yuuri, Viktor kisses his nose. “Are we about to head out?”

“Yeah.”

“Your Highness?” Minami says behind them.

They turn around and Yuuri smiles. “What is it?”

“Oh, not you, Your Highness” Minami says to Yuuri. “Umm, Prince Viktor, would you mind if I got a photo with you? I’ve admired your skating for a while and, uh…”

“Sure!” Viktor says. “Yuuri, will you take pictures of us?”

Yuuri holds out his hand for their phones, and both of them pull up their camera apps. They stand together, smiling while Yuuri takes the pictures, and after their phones are handed back.

“Is it possible to get an autograph, too?” Minami asks tentatively.

“I—”

“Vitya,” Yuuri says before the nearby bodyguard gets a chance, “we aren’t permitted to sign our name on anything.”

“I know that,” Viktor says. He’s had rules drilled into him since just after they got together. Once the engagement was official, more rules had been added and Minako had made sure he was aware of every one of them.

Smiling, Yuuri shakes his head. “We aren’t allowed to _sign our name_ on anything.”

Ahh. Viktor takes the paper Minami’s holding, drawing a heart-mouthed smiley face with bangs. “Here you go,” he says. Minami smiles excitedly, thanking him with a deep bow before being called away by his coach.

 

“Do you miss it?” Yuuri asks, quiet while they get driven back to the Summer Palace.

“Miss what?”

“The ice,” he says as he stares out the window.

Viktor takes his hand, running his thumb over the golden band Yuuri wears, a twin of Viktor’s down to the engraving on the inside. “Occasionally,” he says. “I was nearing the end of my competitive days anyway. You know how my knees have gotten.”

Shifting, Yuuri leans against him. “I know.” It’s been getting more and more frequent that Viktor would end up in pain after a long practice. Not the pain of exercise that he’s so used to, but a pain that tears through his legs when his knees are tired of taking his weight, a pain that leaves him limping for days even when he does his best to stay off his feet. Such incidents are few and far between for now, but his exercise routine has had to change in order to slow the development of further issues.

“I enjoyed skating itself more than I enjoyed competition,” Viktor continues, “and I can go to Ice Castle anytime I want.” The thrill of an audience has never gotten old, but the process of competing had long since stopped being enjoyable. Long hours training, heavily-restricted diet, the travel, the press… over a decade competing at the international level had left him almost desperately needing a change. He wraps his arm around Yuuri. “You didn’t take me from the ice, you know, regardless of what the tabloids said.”

When Viktor had announced his retirement, the press had gone nuts. Despite him saying, very clearly, it was out of consideration for his physical health and that he felt it was time for a new National Hero for Russia, they immediately published articles about the Akitsushiman Royal Family apparently forbidding it for one reason or another. A popular bit of speculation is that it was so he doesn’t overshadow Yuuri, but it’s not like retirement would take away the awards he already has. Yuuri sighs next to him, snuggling closer.

“I just hate the fact they think because we’re married that I’m going to try to control you. Like forcing you to quit, what kind of person do they think I _am?”_

“They’re assholes,” Viktor replies, earning a snort from his husband. “You and I both know we’ve always considered each other equals. Our families know, and at this point so does the entire palace. We’ll just have to make that clear to everyone else and keep it consistent over time. They’ll get the message.”

“Gonna be really honest right now,” Yuuri says, “when I was twelve I had trouble with that.”

“You were _twelve,_ love. Anyway, we didn’t start talking until you were what, fifteen?”

“Fourteen. I was still a little shit sometimes.”

“You were a lot nicer than I’d have expected from a royal.”

Pulling away, Yuuri goes to protest for a moment before thinking about it and conceding. “I can see what you mean,” he says, settling back in.

They’re on the final stretch of road, running along the ocean before turning up the hill upon which the palace lies. It’s easy to see why Yuuri’d been so eager to have Viktor visit one day. The scenery is gorgeous, and the small-town feel is a refreshing change from the hustle and bustle of the capital.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri guides him through the palace on their way to bed that night, talking animatedly about his childhood memories as the dogs trot next to them. Some stories Viktor’s heard over the years, others are completely new, and he loves hearing about Yuuri’s life but he’s more than grateful when they get closer to the bedrooms.

“Are we sleeping in your dad’s bedroom since he’s not here?”

“No,” Yuuri says. “It’s nice, to be sure, but…”

“We’re on our honeymoon?” Viktor asks with a sleepy grin.

Yuuri kisses him. “Among other things.” The tone of his voice says there’s something more to it, something he’s not quite saying and after over a decade of friendship it’s surprising that Viktor can’t figure out what it is.

“Such as?” he asks as they reach the bedroom door.

Pushing it open, Yuuri sighs. “It just would feel weird taking the King’s Bedroom before I'm… before it’s mine.”

“Understandable,” Viktor says as the door closes behind them. The room is softly-lit, though bright enough they can see easily. Yuuri’s eventual ascension to the throne is something they’ve discussed, especially once Viktor made the choice to be married into the family. There is no desire on Yuuri’s part to rush things, Viktor is inclined to agree, and it hits him again that one day, his husband will become King and he’ll be Consort. He’s known for years that whoever Yuuri’d ended up with would eventually also end up on the throne, but hadn’t, in his wildest dreams, allowed himself to think about what it would mean if that person was him.

They crawl into bed together that night, the dogs settling at their feet. “Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs as he's wrapped in warm arms, “Yuuri, we're husbands.”

“We are,” Yuuri sighs happily, nuzzling closer. “‘Bout time, too,” he mutters. Viktor kisses him again.

“I love you,” he whispers, relishing the short giggle that comes out of Yuuri’s mouth.

“I love you,” Yuuri replies through a yawn.

 

~*~

 

At three a.m., Yuuri’s wandering the halls of the Summer Palace. Strangely unable to sleep he’d rolled out of Viktor’s arms, crawled out of bed and grabbed his phone. Vicchan had raised his head from his perch at the foot of the bed, standing slowly and making his way over to Yuuri’s warm pillow before flopping down on it. Makka, on the floor, had gotten up and padded gently over to Yuuri, nosing his hand until he scratched her ears just where she likes it. She’d followed as he’d wrapped a light cotton robe around himself and went for a walk to clear his head.

Unusually, likely due to their visit early in the trip, Yuuri’s finding himself wanting to go to the rink. He’s done it before once or twice, usually in the early evening, but right now it’s too late to go to the rink. He could get access if he really wanted to, it would only take a phone call, but there’s really no reason to. It would be rude, in all honesty, and while Yuuri’s accustomed to getting what he wants at the palace when he wants it, much of that is due to the fact that his family pays people to be available to do these things. The rink is another story, and Yuuri won’t take advantage of his status in order to be able to skate. Luckily, he has a dance studio available, and he heads in that direction.

 

Technically, there are two studios. The main one, with the mirrors and the barre and enough room for a small dance troupe to hold a rehearsal, and another one, much smaller with access through a plain door in the larger studio. Having forgotten his dance slippers, Yuuri opts to go into the smaller room. He directs Makkachin to lay on the bed nearby so he can play whatever music he wants without fearing damage to her ears. Walking through the door and closing it behind him, he smiles as he sees the pole stretching from floor to ceiling.

At first, palace officials had been resistant to allowing a pole to be put in. The lessons themselves were inappropriate for the heir to the throne, they claimed, and they didn’t want to encourage him. They’d already allowed a pole in Hasetsu (it’s been ages though, since Yuuri’d had a chance to dance and he’s still, for some reason, trying to figure out how to approach the subject with Viktor,) and it had taken Yuuri grabbing his duffel bag, announcing that he was going to dance regardless, and threatening to go to a local studio for them to change their tone. They’d acquiesced pretty quickly, agreeing that if he was going to dance, they’d rather it be in the privacy of the Palace.  Plugging his phone into the stereo, Yuuri turns on his playlist and starts warming up.

He’s stripped down to his boxer-briefs and just started doing lazy rotations when his phone rings with Viktor’s distinctive ringtone. Lowering himself to the ground, he pads over to pick it up, pausing the music.

“Yes, my love?” he says when he answers.

“Yuuri, lyubov, where’d you go?” Viktor asks, voice heavy with sleep.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Yuuri looks around, sighing. “I was just dancing, I’ll be back in bed in a while.”

Viktor makes a disgruntled noise. “Can I come watch?” he asks. It would be easy enough to get dressed again and do ballet, easier still to just say he’d head back, but he doesn’t exactly want to go with either of those options.

Yuuri takes a deep breath. “Yes,” he says. “If you’re up for it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” There’s rustling on the other end of the phone, presumably as Viktor pulls on clothing of some sort. As it’s summer, Viktor tends to minimize his sleepwear. The last few years had seen him going from pants and a t-shirt to a t-shirt and underwear before he and Yuuri had gotten together. After, he’d quickly gone from the t-shirt and underwear setup to completely nude unless weather dictated otherwise. It had been fine for a while. Yuuri didn’t mind at all, sometimes stripping down to boxer-briefs himself, but Viktor’d seen the sense in wearing _something_ when they’d found themselves woken urgently in the night after an awful storm had knocked the power out in a good chunk of the country. With Toshiya on a trip, it had fallen to Yuuri to organize resources and repairs, to release a statement and send military aid and to bring his people through the incident.

Yuuri had been able to just hop out of bed, pull on pants and a t-shirt and had been ready to go. Viktor, meanwhile had been stuck under the covers trying to awkwardly hint that maybe he didn’t want to get out of bed in front of three attendants, four members of the Royal Guard, the head of Akitsushima’s Emergency Relief Commission, and Hana, one of Yuuri’s long-time bodyguards. It had taken Yuuri directing everyone into his sitting room to get Viktor out from under the blanket. It’s not that Viktor’s shy about his body, not at all.

There are just some people you don’t want to end up buck naked in front of.

 

Yuuri guides Viktor verbally down to the dance studio. It’s only a few minutes before Viktor’s knocking on the main door, and Yuuri walks over to open it. Viktor stares. Still wearing only his boxer-briefs, Yuuri crosses his arms even as he feels a blush spread across his cheeks.

“I thought you were dancing,” he says.

“I was.” Yuuri draws himself to his full height, standing proud.

“You’re in your underwear.”

“I’m aware of this.” Yuuri closes the door behind Viktor after Vicchan runs in, trotting over to the larger of the two dog beds in the room and curling up on top of Makkachin. Makka, in all her love and patience, merely lifts her head to lick at Vicchan’s nose before settling back down. Face on fire and with a heart rate that would likely cause alarm should his pulse be taken right now, Yuuri takes Viktor’s hand.

“I, umm. Vitya. Do you…” Yuuri feels his face grow even warmer as he looks to the side. Too many times Yuuri’d allowed himself to daydream about showing Viktor, even though he’d never quite gotten the courage to approach the subject in person, and now those dreams return in full force. Taking a deep breath, Yuuri decides showing would be easier than telling, and he pulls Viktor into the smaller room, closing the door behind them.

Viktor’s eyes are immediately drawn to the metal pole in the center. “Yuuri, you know how to pole dance?”

“I’ve been taking lessons for years,” Yuuri mumbles. “It’s fun, it’s good for your core and pretty much everything else and Minako ended up mentioning it once as an alternative to my typical ballet and ballroom and I thought hey, maybe it’d be a good idea, you know? Because it sounded like something I might want to do and then I ended up really liking it and—”

Viktor kisses his nose, chuckling. “You don’t have to justify yourself, Lyubov, I was just surprised.”

Of course. “I wanted to tell you,” Yuuri says earnestly, “but then after we got together it was hectic, and then you moved in and you were so exhausted from training and I was busy and we just didn’t have time and then there was the wedding planning and that trip we had to take to Egypt and I completely forgot about it until a week or two ago an—” There’s a kiss on Yuuri’s nose again, and then his lips.

“You remembered you wanted to tell me you can pole dance… just before our wedding?”

It’s with that question Yuuri finally succumbs to his need to just cover his face and lower himself to the floor. Viktor is absolutely correct, and Yuuri hadn’t even fully put the pieces together himself. “Yes,” he whispers. Chuckling, Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri, kissing the top of his head.

“How long have you been doing it?”

“I was eighteen when I started,” Yuuri replies, sitting cross-legged. Though his face is still burning, it’s easier to talk about it now that Viktor _knows._

“That was forever ago, Yuuri! Why didn’t you tell me way back then? I wouldn’t have judged you, you know that.”

Yuuri sighs, playing with his fingers. “I’ve had a crush on you since I was like. Seventeen? I, uhh. I figured it out around when you gave me Vicchan.”

“So I gave you a dog and you fell in love with me?” Viktor laughs, sitting close to Yuuri.

“It’s not… it was a _crush,_ Vitya, and it definitely didn’t _start_ when you gave me Vicchan that’s just when I figured it out!” Ruffling his hair, Viktor smiles and pulls Yuuri close.

There’s a moment of quiet, where everything seems to settle around them before Viktor pulls back just a few inches. “I’ve known I had a thing for you since you visited my family in Russia. When we went to Yekaterinburg.”

Yuuri frowns. “Did Phichit know you had a thing for me?” When Viktor nods, he sighs. “That asshole kept… trying to get me to tell you.”

“You, too?”

Apparently Viktor’d also been on the end of Phichit’s gentle nudging. He’d never been obnoxious about it, but ever since he and Yuuri had met— become closer?— at the party, he’d pushed just a bit harder every once in a while. Yuuri makes a mental note to… well he’s not entirely sure what he’s going to do but it’ll be something. Probably involving a shitty meme or twenty. Yuuri sighs.

“Would you like to watch?” he asks. Viktor’s eyes widen as he nods. Yuuri kisses him then, slowly, before smirking as he holds out his phone. “Choose the song?”

Viktor grins.

 

~*~

 

It’s mid morning when Viktor finds himself woken up by kisses. At first, soft lips are pressing themselves to his forehead and hair. Long fingers ease the blanket down, kissing his eyebrows, his nose and chin, and eventually his lips after his entire face is revealed. Sleepily, he opens one eye, grateful his back is to the windows. Sunlight streams into the room and Yuuri looks radiant.

“Hi,” Yuuri says, grinning. “Good morning.”

“Mmmm, g’morning,” Viktor says, leaning forward for another kiss. Yuuri indulges him before scrunching his nose.

“You have morning breath.”

 _“You_ have morning breath,” Viktor retorts, a force of habit by now. Yuuri just laughs.

“I brushed my teeth already,” he whispers, “so really it’s just you.”

Viktor reaches up for a hug but pulls Yuuri down onto the bed with him, rolling them up in the blanket.

“We’re staying in bed,” he says.

“Vitya,” Yuuri laughs, “come on. Breakfast is already being made. Coffee will be up with it.”

“No.” Shifting so he’s on top of Yuuri, a difficult feat wrapped up as they are, he lets his head rest on his chest.

“Why are you such a grouch?” Yuuri asks. “You’re usually annoyingly chipper.”

“We were up all _night,”_ Viktor mutters.

“You could have gone back to sleep instead of coming to the studio.”

“Not as nice without you,” he says, kissing Yuuri’s lips. “And watching you dance was more than worth it.”

They’d had an eventful night, Yuuri’s dancing being an unexpected but certainly welcome highlight. It takes another few minutes of cajoling to get Viktor out of bed, an amusing reversal of their typical routine, and it’s not until an hour or so after breakfast that he remembers they’re going down to the beach. They change into their swim clothes as noon rolls around, and after being given an insulated picnic basket full of food and drinks, they’re on their way.

 

~*~

 

“How far did you say it was?”

Yuuri laughs, stepping over a tree root as he takes his husband’s hand. “It’s only a bit more,” he says. The path is familiar to him but he’s been taking it slowly anyway. There’s an access road to the beach, winding through the woods separating the coast from the palace, but Yuuri and his family have always taken the footpath unless there was just too much to carry. The dogs trot on ahead, sniffing at various plants and rocks. Vicchan knows the path well, and Makkachin sticks close by him, so Yuuri isn’t particularly worried about them as they make their way to the beach.

They reach sea level, and the forest abruptly gives way to sand. The natural harbor is peaceful, almost idyllic, and cliffs on either side mean the beach is only accessible by water. Stopping, Yuuri pulls off his sandals, wiggling his toes in the sand with a smile. “We used to keep the Royal Fleet in here,” he says, “when we used this as our main palace.” Traipsing across the sand, Yuuri leads the way to his family’s favorite spot. Perfectly shaded under a copse of trees, there’s just a bit of grass large enough to lay out a blanket. Yuuri hands Viktor the basket and does so.

The dogs run the length of the water while Yuuri pulls out the food. The food is in resealable glass storage containers, and dishes have been sent along for their use. Yuuri pulls out the dishes and glasses, setting them aside with cloth napkins and cutlery. The cooler still holds containers of cheese, chopped fruit and whole grapes, and fresh vegetables to snack on. Crackers are in their own container, and Yuuri smiles when he sees a bottle of sparkling water and a bottle of wine. When he looks up, Viktor’s staring.

“I keep forgetting to expect real dishes,” he says, before smiling and kissing Yuuri’s nose.

Yuuri pecks him in return. Makkachin runs past them, stopping a few feet away before trotting back and nosing at the basket. Smart girl. “She smells the t-r-e-a-t-s,” he explains.

“She does her best,” Viktor responds and when he smiles the sun catches his eyes just right they gleam and Yuuri sighs happily.

“I love you,” he says.

“Any reason in particular?”

“You're my Vitya.”

Pulling out his phone, Viktor scoots close, leaning on Yuuri before taking a picture. They’re happy, and Yuuri kisses Viktor’s cheek for another. There are a few joke pictures, the picture where Makkachin and Vicchan are two brown blurs in the background. Yuuri takes one for their official account with Makkachin in Viktor’s lap and Yuuri holding Vicchan in his free arm. Viktor grins when Yuuri points out that both of their rings are visible, and they type up a caption and draft it. The palace’s security department will clean it up, changing identifying metadata before posting it to the account for them.

 

They start with the food, sharing the bottle of wine as they trade bites, Viktor kissing mango juice off of Yuuri’s chin with a smile. Viktor eats the majority of the cheese and they end up throwing cherry tomatoes, seeing if they can make it into each other’s mouths. Viktor is considerably better at aiming, citing extensive practice with his twin brother. “It’s not my fault we had _rules_ growing up,” Yuuri says.

“We had rules too,” Viktor replies as he hits Yuuri in the face with a grape. Yuuri throws one back, but Viktor catches it in his mouth.

“Vitya, compared to the palace your household was downright chaotic.”

“You were fine,” Viktor says.

“After the first day and a half!” Yuuri retorts before he can stop himself.

Eyes wide, Viktor sits back on his heels. Looking away, Yuuri sighs, pulling his braid to the front and messing with the elastic. “I enjoyed it, Vitya, honestly. I just. It was different. It was confusing. I learned how to make coffee six times and still couldn’t get it _right._ Lyosha did it half-asleep.”

“He’s used to making coffee,” Viktor says, “he does it all the time.”

“I know that, but everyone talks about how easy it is to make coffee and ‘basic household chores’ and all that and it’s just. Not. And I didn’t…” he trails off, cheeks burning. It hadn’t been until he’d gotten back home that it had really hit him how different Viktor’s house had been. While the first few days had been a little overwhelming, Viktor’s family had been great about accommodating him, and had been incredibly nice about it as well. He’d slipped into the routine, and they’d gotten an idea of what he could handle without ending up needing a break on the porch to sort himself out, so everything had gone smoothly after that. It didn’t mean Yuuri wasn’t grateful to be home.

Moving closer, Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri, giving him a tender kiss on the cheek. “Are you still upset about it or…”

“No,” Yuuri replies. “I just kinda felt useless. Still do sometimes.”

“I can teach you how to cook,” Viktor offers, smiling when Yuuri looks at him. “I should teach you how to make food and then we can go visit my moms again and surprise them.”

“Better yet,” Yuuri says, grinning, “we invite your family out and cook for everyone.”

“We can invite my moms out for their birthdays. They’re six days apart.”

“Do you know how to make cake?” Yuuri asks. He absolutely loves cake, almost as much as he loves his mother’s congratulatory Katsudon.

“We can make cake,” Viktor says, finishing the cheese on his plate. “I’ll find us some recipes, we’ll take over the kitchens downstairs.”

“That sounds nice.” Smiling, Yuuri picks at his grapes. There’s the sound of jangling tags just before they’re covered with a spray of water, the dogs deciding that _right next to the blanket_ was the best place to shake themselves dry. Yuuri looks down at his cracker.

“I was _eating that,”_ he says sternly to the dogs, who proceed to sit very nicely next to the basket.

Chuckling, Viktor leans over and pulls out the small bag of treats they’d hidden away. “Don’t scold them, they’re doing their best, Yuuri. Come here, Princess,” he says, “come on, my Makka-girl. Vicchan, c’mere.” Both dogs get the message, planting their wet butts on the blanket in front of them. Yuuri sighs.

“Why are you encouraging this?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says with mock admonishment, “you would deny them?”

Knowing full well Yuuri wouldn’t deny the dogs anything if it wasn’t bad for them, Viktor gives him his best puppy-dog eyes. Yuuri huffs, kisses his nose, and gestures towards the dogs. Viktor gives them each their treats, scratching behind their ears and under their chins before they trot away.

 

When late afternoon rolls around they’re both soaking wet, lying in the shallowest waters and letting the waves lap gently over them. “Vitya,” Yuuri says softly, suddenly overcome with emotion. “Vitya we’re married. You’re my husband.”

“I am,” Viktor says in awe. “You’re _my_ husband.”

“I’m thirsty,” Yuuri says absently and Viktor snorts, laughing and there’s an arm around Yuuri’s waist and cold lips on his and he rolls on his side to better embrace his husband, opening his eyes. “Not that kind of thirsty, I’ve been submerged in salt water half the day!”

Viktor keeps laughing as he stands, holding his hand out. “As this is our honeymoon, and we’ve been together for some time now, I have undeniable proof that you’re—”

Yuuri cuts him off with a splash of cold seawater and Viktor sputters. As Yuuri gets to his feet, Viktor jogs over and pushes him back into the water, for some reason surprised when Yuuri comes back up, grabs him, and pulls him in as well. With an exaggerated pout, Yuuri stands up and walks towards the picnic basket. There’s still a bit of fruit left, and he drops some blackberries in a glass before filling it with sparkling water. Viktor grabs his phone and takes a few more pictures of the scenery before plopping down on the blanket to take pictures of the now-sleeping dogs.

 

~*~

 

“This is nice,” Viktor says absently as the sun starts to dip behind the horizon.

“Hmm?” Yuuri lifts his head from where it’s resting on Viktor’s chest, looking at him curiously.

“It’s nice here,” Viktor says. “Less formal.” The formality of the palace, by now, is familiar enough that it’s not off-putting, but as Yuuri’d pointed out earlier, Viktor’s home life was nowhere near as regimented growing up. His two-to-three-week long stays at the palace in Hasetsu hadn’t done much to prepare him for what it would be like to actually _live_ there, and he has to admit he’s wondering what it will be like going back. With fewer staff members, and far fewer people, the casual atmosphere had been a welcome transitory period of sorts, easing Viktor into life as Prince-Consort. Over the course of the last week, he’d started to become more accustomed to answering to his title, to being deferred to, and there’s no doubt it would have been far more overwhelming back in Hasetsu.

“I’ve always appreciated that,” Yuuri responds.

Viktor rolls over, snuggling close to Yuuri in the cooling air. “We should go back,” he says, “it’s getting dark.”

“I wanna rinse the sand out of my hair,” Yuuri says, pulling it loose, “and we need to put the blanket in the basket.”

 

Viktor takes the opportunity to rinse himself off as well, plunging into the cool water and running his fingers vigorously through his hair. They kiss once when they surface, several times more while they walk back to the blanket, and they’re just folding it up when Viktor stops, looking around.

“Yuuri,” he says. “Yuuri, please tell me we brought towels.”

“I could have sworn we did,” he replies, combing his fingers through his hair.

Glancing back at the sun, now halfway down, Viktor sighs. “How could we forget towels? How do you not bring towels to the beach?”

“You know I don’t pack for my own trips, Viktor,” Yuuri snaps, teeth starting to chatter. As night falls, the temperature is plummeting. The cool breeze off the sea isn’t doing them any favors, and Yuuri grabs the blanket out of the basket. “Come on, let’s walk back in this.” Despite the cold, he’s smiling as he wraps the blanket around himself, holding one side open for Viktor.

Grabbing the picnic basket, Viktor calls the dogs over. “Can’t we just call someone? Ask them to bring towels or just pick us up?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Yuuri laughs, wrapping the blanket around him.

Water drips down the back of Viktor’s neck, on his cheek, and his swimsuit is very uncomfortably cold and he hadn’t bothered to bring a t-shirt. He’s _cold,_ he’s _wet,_ and he’s not looking forward to a trek uphill in the dark. “Yuuri, you’re shivering, I’m freezing, can we at least call and have them bring towels?” Once they get here, Viktor will insist on a ride, and Yuuri will smile and crawl into the heated car with him and they won’t have to walk back in the cold, dark night.

“Alright,” Yuuri says. “I have the number in my phone if you’ll hand it to me.”

Opening the basket, Viktor reaches in, pulling Yuuri’s phone out and pressing the home key. Nothing happens. He tries turning the phone on and his stomach plummets. “Yuuri, it’s dead,” he says.

“I have the number memorized if you give me yours.” With a sigh of relief, Viktor pulls his phone out and unlocks it, only to see a low battery warning notification flash across the screen before the phone vibrates and dies.

“No,” he whispers. “No, my phone can’t be dead, too.”

“They’re both dead?” There’s an unexpected undercurrent of near-horror in Yuuri’s voice.

“Completely,” Viktor responds.

“So now we _have_ to walk back?”

 _“Now_ there’s a problem? Come on, let’s just get going,” Viktor says, “the sooner we head up, the sooner we'll get back.” Putting the phones back in the basket, he wraps his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. He’s incredibly thankful Yuuri’s sopping wet hair, loose as it is after he’d rinsed it out, is over the blanket instead of against Viktor’s skin. Yuuri moves closer, wrapping his hand around Viktor’s waist.

“Why are you so okay with this?” Yuuri asks as they make their way along the dimly-lit path.

“I’ve been caught out in the cold plenty of times,” Viktor says. “I remember one time, I was wearing a woolen peacoat and by the time I made it to my house I was soaked to the bone! Another time, I was out sightseeing and there was a sudden downpour. I didn’t even have a jacket at that point, I just accepted it and went back to the hotel!”

“That sounds horrible,” Yuuri grumbles as they make their way up the path.

“It happens!” The blanket doesn’t last long, making their gait awkward and unwieldy, and it’s soon shoved into the basket with the containers. Making the occasional displeased noise, Yuuri wrings out his hair as they walk. Interestingly, Yuuri’s sense of adventure only goes so far, which is to say, it’s only enjoyable so long as he’s being inconvenienced by choice. It had taken a little while for Viktor to understand this, for him to stop wondering why Yuuri was so enthralled by even the most mundane things at times. Yuuri likes new and exciting things and experiences. Walking back through a forest, sopping wet in the dark of the early evening is a very new experience, and Viktor just lets out a sigh as they reach a staircase of planks set into the dirt.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asks softly next to him.

“Nothing’s _wrong,_ Yuuri.”

“You're being weirdly quiet after being annoyingly cheerful.” The path turns, winding around some rocks before turning back in the direction of the palace.

“We’re walking through a forest! I can tell stories if you want. There was this one time Lyosha and I were on a trip with our school and he pushed me into a pool.”

“What’d you do?” Yuuri asks, curious.

“I got out and pushed him in.”

“What’d he do about it?”

Viktor steps over a rock in their path, sighing as it turns upwards again. “He told the teacher he was me and tried to get me in trouble for starting it. He didn’t get away with it, though, we were wearing different shoes and the teacher had helped me tie mine earlier.”

“How often did you guys switch places like that on purpose though? You told me about the time you made him go to a photo shoot.”

Viktor chuckles. “Yeah, that was before he got his tattoo. To be fair, I was sick and he _offered.”_

“Did you guys like, take each others’ tests and such?” Twisting his hair, Yuuri wraps it into a bun before tying it with the elastic.

“Nah,” Viktor says. “By the time we got to that age I was living in St. Petersburg almost full-time. Of course, he did get sick of explaining that he wasn’t me so he’s given a few interviews over the years.”

“Like the one ‘you’ gave in Moscow while you and I were actually hanging out in Paris?”

“Exactly!” Viktor laughs. “I wonder if he’d get confused for me at the palace.”

Yuuri purses his lips, ducking under a tree branch as they climb. When Viktor turns around, he can see the beach far below. The moon shimmers on the water, and the two guard towers on the cliffs are lit dimly enough that if Viktor hadn’t had them pointed out earlier, he wouldn’t know they’re there. It seems like they’ve been walking forever, but the palace is nowhere in sight.

“Honestly,” Viktor continues, “they’ll figure it out pretty quickly if he does. He’s not good at following the rules even when he knows them.”

“You’re one to talk,” Yuuri mutters as a full-body shiver goes through him. “Anyway, I know there are a lot of rules but it’s not like we’re Versailles. I tried to learn the rules of etiquette for the Court at Versailles, and it was… so incredibly confusing.”

“Why?” Viktor asks.

“I was curious,” Yuuri says. “We learned about the French Revolution in school and the teacher talked about it a bit. I figured if I could master Versailles, I could master any code of etiquette. Didn’t go well, though.”

Suddenly steeper, the path seems to go straight up the side of the hill. There’s an open area to their left, though, a pair of lights in the distance.

“Grab Vicchan,” Yuuri says, pointing at the dog at Viktor’s feet. Viktor picks him up and Yuuri calls Makka to him, grabbing her leash out of the picnic basket and clipping it onto her collar. It’s clear why as the lights move closer, now recognizable as headlights on a car.

“This is the private access road,” Yuuri says as he traipses through the bit of undergrowth separating the footpath from the asphalt, “which means someone came to find us.”

“Oh thank god,” Viktor says with relief. Vicchan squirms in his arms, still wet. Viktor scratches behind his ears, cooing at him as they come to stand on the asphalt. Yuuri waves his hand and the headlights flash.

They are given bathrobes and terrycloth-covered slippers to wear after rinsing their feet. The dogs are wrapped in warm, soft towels, sitting in their laps as they’re driven back. Well, Makka tries, front paws draped awkwardly over Viktor’s lap as she struggles to stay upright in the moving vehicle.

“What is she _doing?”_ Yuuri asks.

“Her _best,”_ Viktor responds with pride. The drive takes only a minute or two, the attendant explaining they were nearly at the palace as it was. So close, Viktor thinks, and yet he’s still grateful to be wrapped in a bathrobe, sitting in a car instead of traipsing through the woods. They pull up at the back door in short order, Makkachin and Vicchan taken promptly to be groomed.

 

~*~

 

Freshly showered, Yuuri pulls his shirt over his head, careful to avoid the towel wrapped around his hair. Viktor’s pulling on his pants, still shirtless, and though he hasn’t been competing his body is still lean, solid muscle. Yuuri kisses his shoulder blade, simply because he can. Viktor turns, pulling Yuuri close to kiss him again, tender and affectionate and Yuuri finds himself pulled close at the hips, his back starting to bow as he’s tipped backward. The towel on his head falls to the floor unnoticed, his hair unfurling behind him and when they straighten back up it falls damp and heavy on his back. He really ought to do something about it before it tangles.

“May I?” Viktor asks as Yuuri picks up his comb.

Yuuri nods, silently holding it out. Viktor’s fingers brush his as he takes it, and he presses a kiss to the whorl of Yuuri’s hair. Sitting in a nearby armchair, Yuuri sighs happily as Viktor’s fingers get to work, gently pulling Yuuri’s hair to rest behind his shoulders. Slowly, with a reverence he saves only for Yuuri, Viktor starts working the comb through the tips. He doesn’t speak much, using his fingers to adjust Yuuri’s head as needed.

The pressure of the comb is gentle but consistent, much like the fingers that card through his hair, and Yuuri finds himself relaxing into the touch. “You're so good at this,” he says, as Viktor starts a French braid.

“Lilia taught me a lot,” he says, pulling Yuuri’s hair out of his face. He doesn't sound particularly fond of the memory, leading Yuuri to wonder how much Lilia had contributed to Viktor taking off mid-practice for an impromptu haircut. They're quiet while Viktor braids with deft fingers, brushing the back of Yuuri’s neck on occasion before he gets further down. There’s something calming in the monotony, in the way Viktor’s fingers move rhythmically as he works and Yuuri’s sure he’ll never tire of Viktor’s penchant for playing with and doing his hair.

Once he reaches the end, Viktor hesitates for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Yuuri,” he says, voice quiet with awe, “we're _married.”_

“We are.” Yuuri smiles as Viktor wraps an elastic around the end of his braid, letting it fall against his lower back. Putting his hands on Yuuri’s shoulder, Viktor leans over, kissing his cheek.

Yuuri stands, turning in Viktor’s arms. “Vityusha, my love,” he whispers. “Do you want to see tangible proof of me making terrible decisions as a child?”

It’s clearly not what Viktor’s expecting to hear, and he throws his head back as he laughs. “Beyond the baseboard you broke in Hasetsu?”

“Vitya, you've heard the story.” Yuuri knows this because Mari insists on retelling it every other year or so, just to keep it fresh in Viktor’s brain.

“This isn’t… the grappling hook, is it?” Viktor asks with wide eyes.

“It is,” Yuuri confirms.

There was a time in his childhood, when he was around eight, that he’d fallen in love with adventure. He’d reveled in the idea of vanishing and living a completely different life full of daring escapes and cunning deception. He’d wanted to learn new things and travel the globe, letting himself be taken from one new and exciting destination to the next.

It was during this period of time that he’d asked for, and for some reason received, a genuine grappling hook. It was a gift, only with a promise that he wouldn’t use it irresponsibly.

At eight years old, Yuuri had had a very different idea of what counted as ‘irresponsible’ than his father had.

At eight years and seven months old, Yuuri had figured out how to reach the attic space above the top floor of the Summer Palace.

 

~*~

 

Viktor follows Yuuri up the narrow staircase in the wall, using his cellphone to light the way as they climb. “So I carried my books and my snacks up here, right?” Grunting, he pushes a hatch open. “Woof, that was a lot lighter when I was a kid.”

“Did they replace it?”

“Yup.” Yuuri doesn’t bother with a ladder, instead just pulling himself through the hole. He reaches his hand through, but Viktor waves it away. “I couldn’t lift the heavier door when I was that young,” Yuuri says as Viktor lifts himself into the crawlspace. Yuuri pulls a cord somewhere and a dim light fills the room. “Anyway,” he says, “I had a bag full of books, snacks, a few bottles of water, a grappling hook, and next to no good judgement.”

Viktor chuckles. As many times as he’s heard the story before, it’s even better now that he’s seeing things in person. They go through a small crawl space before they end up in an area with a much higher ceiling.

“This is it,” Yuuri says, turning on the light. The first thing Viktor sees is piping and cables running along the walls, clearly much younger than the building around them. Pulling at his sleeve, Yuuri directs his attention upwards. Several beams have gouges taken out of them, deep holes where something had dug in.

“Is this all from the hook?”

“Me trying to figure out how to throw it properly, yes.”

In the space very near the vaulted ceiling, there's a metal prong sticking out of the rafter. Yuuri points at at it, saying “that area… I used to try to get up there so I could read and have snacks and stuff like kids in the stories, you know? It worked for a while. I used to come up here and read on occasion. I drew myself a couple of diagrams too,” he says, pointing at faint marker scribblings just above a thick beam. “But then I figured if it was that much fun _climbing_ with the grappling hook imagine how it would feel to swing on it and… well, it broke.” That explains the prong, jutting proudly out of the rafter as a monument to the hubris of a prince.

Pulling on Viktor’s upper arm, Yuuri turns him and points at a large area of much-newer wooden flooring. “My father’s receiving room is just under here, where I landed. So that’s the story about how I cracked his ceiling, almost caused his light to crash to the ground, scared the shit out of at least six members of various royal families, and broke my wrist in one fell swoop.”

“Wow.”

“Oh, and the bottle of chocolate milk I’d had cracked and leaked through the ceiling. I didn’t even get more chocolate milk.” Viktor pulls Yuuri into his arms, kissing him as he holds him close.

“It sounds tragic.”

“It was,” Yuuri says with an exaggerated pout. “Incredibly so.” He giggles— _giggles—_ when Viktor kisses his nose, and pulls Viktor down for another series of kisses before turning away abruptly and sneezing. Two more times he sneezes, pulling a tissue out of his pocket to blow his nose.

“It’s dusty,” he mutters, taking Viktor’s hand.

They go back the way they came, through the trapdoor and down the staircase before they finally reach the hall. The dogs bound over happily, relieved to see their humans again after they’d disappeared into the wall, and as they walk through the palace Viktor’s heart swells in his chest, elation filling him as he looks at his best friend-turned-husband, at their dogs, and inexplicably he finds himself falling more in love than he’d ever thought possible.

But then, he’s always been fond of surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I'm sorry it's late!!! I ended up rewriting like twice and after the last few days I've been exhausted!!
> 
> But here it is!!!! And thank you all for sticking with this fic!!! It's the first decent-sized multichapter I've ever completed so it's a milestone in more ways than one!!!! 
> 
> Thanks again, and I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me (and rebloggable posts for each chapter) on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon](https://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)


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